What I Know Now
by quizasvivamos
Summary: 13 Going on 30 AU: Tired of being bullied and taken advantage of, Kurt wishes he could skip past his dreary adolescent years to a time in his life where he is respected, successful, and happy. He might just get what he wishes for, but will it come at a cost?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Oh, gosh, so, first of all, I _love_ this fic. It is truly one of my favorites (you don't have to agree with me at all). I wrote _What I Know Now_ for the Klaine Prompt Bang aka the Klaine Prompt Challenge, and it is based on the following prompt:

_**Prompt #17:** I'd love to see a fic based on the movie 13 Going On 30, with Kurt as the main character and Blaine as the love interest. It doesn't have to stick exactly to the plot of the movie, but should be along the same lines, with a happy, Klainey ending. Bonus points if Kurt's best friend/rival in the movie is Quinn and Blaine's fiancé is Sebastian. Extra double bonus points if Kurt's hockey playing boyfriend is Sam!_

I had maybe too much fun writing this story, though certain parts and character interactions were definitely a challenge. The artist I was initially paired up with dropped out, but I am so very lucky to have a friend in the fandom like riverance who stepped up and came to my rescue. As always, the cover art she created for the story is breathtaking. I hope you enjoy the art and the story! :D

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><p>Kurt slammed his locker door shut, the only way it would close properly, listening for a click to be sure the lock had caught. A series of cacophonous sounds, metal clanging against metal, the pounding footfalls of rowdy kids running up and down the hallways, and friends shouting down the hall rather than walking the short distance to meet each other, filled the seventh grade sector of the junior high school and signaled the conclusion of the school day.<p>

The end of the school year was fast approaching, giving even more reason for the noise and activity in the hallway, which was now beginning to clear out nearly as quickly as it had filled up. Kurt pivoted around, still looking down to secure his messenger bag, and as the second clasp snapped shut, he looked up, his eyes meeting those of his best friend, Blaine Anderson.

"Hey, Kurt. Are we still hanging out today after school?" Blaine asked with a shy smile, his hands in his pockets. "My mom finally bought me the High School Musical soundtrack, and I thought we could listen to it." He looked down at his shoes and swayed from side to side.

"Yeah, of course," Kurt said, grinning. He knew Blaine had been waiting for the cd ever since it came out that January, and he undoubtedly had one of his dance sessions planned.

"Hummel," a voice called down the corridor, and Kurt whipped his head around to view the source. Walking down the hallway, the sun at their backs, shining off their hair like halos, was the self-proclaimed Unholy Trinity: Lucy Fabray flanked by the equally as stunning Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce.

They were the It girls of McKinley Middle School, the first to get boobs, and the only girls to make Junior Varsity Cheerios before they even entered the high school. They were popular. They were fierce. They were fabulous. They were everything Kurt Hummel aspired to be, and he almost died when Lucy first started talking to him after art class one day. He still couldn't believe it.

"Hey, Kurt - Hobbit," she said, acknowledging Blaine before tuning him out completely. "We got the invitation to your birthday party on Friday, but, you see, Coach Sylvester is making us practice overtime, so we're going to be _exhausted_. Also, the team is getting together that day to finish the new uniform design so we can pitch it in time for the new school year. I'm so sorry. We'd really like to come, but we're just too busy." She pouted, and Kurt's heart sank.

"I could help you with the design," Kurt said, hoping that, if he could lessen their burden, they could make it to his party after all. He was also hoping it would earn him a few points in their book and increase his chances of hanging out with them and making the team next year.

"You could? Are you sure?" Lucy asked. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Yeah, it's really not a problem at all! It would be a lot of fun," Kurt insisted.

"Well, in that case..." Lucy pulled a folder out of her bag and stuffed it into Kurt's hands. "That should be everything you need! Take a look at it, IM me when you're done, and we'll see you at that party of yours." She winked, and Santana and Brittany side-eyed each other behind her back. Then they turned around, almost in unison, and headed toward the doors.

Blaine glared at the girls as they walked away, ponytails bobbing, hips swinging, until they were around the corner and out of sight.

"They're not your real friends, Kurt. Can't you see they're just using you?" Blaine finally said.

"C'mon, Blaine. I never pegged you as the jealous type. They like me, and becoming friends with them will almost guarantee me a spot on the squad in the fall." Kurt turned and began walking toward the exit, Blaine falling into step by his side. "Besides, you're not even interested in cheerleading. I thought all you wanted to do was play in the band and sing in the choir."

"I'm not jealous," Blaine grumbled. "And, yeah, I like the choir, but I thought you would too. I still don't get why you won't join."

"Honestly, Blaine. Being in the band and the choir makes you a geek! It's not cool," Kurt snapped.

Blaine's eyes were downcast, and he shuffled along, dragging his feet, clearly hurt by Kurt's words. Kurt looked over and almost immediately wished he could take back what he'd said.

"I'm sorry, Blaine. You know I didn't mean it like that. I don't think you're a loser, you know that. It's just that I'm tired of being made fun of. It's bad enough that I'm the chubby kid whose voice hasn't changed yet, and I'm practically the youngest in the grade."

"But I like all those things about you, Kurt," Blaine said. "I wish you did too."

"Well I don't. And the only way for me to get people to back off is to find an in with the popular crowd, and Lucy is that in...or high school is going to eat me alive."

-s-

That evening, Kurt spent a good hour flipping through his mother's old Vogue collection, admiring the strong women in the pictures and trying to find inspiration for the design he'd promised Lucy.

After his mother had passed, Kurt had found a box of her things which included a small stash of fashion magazines, old perfume bottles, and vintage clothing accessories. He claimed them as his own without his father's knowledge and hid them away. They were precious to him. Blaine caught him one day with one of the magazines, and Kurt was embarrassed and scared that Blaine would laugh at him. But he didn't. Instead, he crawled up next to Kurt on the bed, grabbed one of the magazines, and they began to look through them together, every few minutes striking up conversation about items or people that caught their eye.

Kurt secretly wanted to be like the women in the magazine, and he wanted to be like Anna Wintour, a fearless, sophisticated, successful New Yorker and editor-in-chief of the top fashion magazine in the world. It was a dream of his that he never even told Blaine about.

There were other things about Kurt that set him apart from his peers. His affinity for Beyoncé was viewed as strange for a boy his age, and for boys in general, but something about her music, the power of her voice, lyrics, and rhythms, really struck a chord with Kurt. Sometimes he and Blaine would choreograph their own dances to the songs or watch the music videos, study and learn the moves, and dance along in the basement. But the fashion and the music were some things they generally kept inside and under wraps. The two always had so much fun, but no one had to know, and Kurt didn't want them to. It was just for him and Blaine.

It was the reason why when Blaine wanted Kurt to join the choir, telling him all about how in high school there was a show choir where they would get to sing _and_ dance, Blaine was confused and disappointed by Kurt's lack of interest and refusal to be swayed. Blaine also wanted choir to be their thing, but Kurt was afraid of how it would damage the image he was trying to project and how it would surely bring the bullies down harder on him.

Kurt rolled over onto his back and closed the magazine. He slid it under his pillow and out of sight just in time before his dad knocked on the doorframe and entered his room.

"Lights out, Kurt," he said. "What did I tell you about sticking to your bedtime?"

"I know," Kurt groaned. "Alright, alright...good night, Dad."

"Good night, Kiddo." And Burt flipped off the light switch and left the room.

-s-

The night before Kurt's thirteenth birthday, Kurt heard something lightly strike his bedroom window, and he rolled over and off the bed, a grin already stretching across his face, and rushed to the window to lift it up.

"Hey, Kurt!" Blaine waved from across the way, only about an eight-foot gap separating their neighboring houses. Kurt waved back, slid the screen up, and leaned out the window. He stretched his arm out to take hold of the device Blaine was now passing over on the end of a broom handle, his end of two tin cans on a string. It was something silly that they'd been doing since elementary school, but neither of them wanted to end the tradition. So, late at night, and especially on special occasions, they would connect their bedrooms via cans on a string and talk until they grew too tired to keep their eyes open.

"It's almost midnight," Blaine said through the can. Kurt held it closer to his ear and smiled. "You know what that means?"

"I'm gonna be a teenager," Kurt said.

"Yep. You'll finally be catching up with the rest of us."

"I wonder if I'll feel any different," Kurt said.

"Maybe. But, hey, I have an early present for you," Blaine said. "Give me one second." He set his can down and disappeared from the window for a moment. When he returned, he had a keyboard, and Kurt's eyes lit up. Blaine set it in his lap and picked the can up again. "I wrote a song. It's probably not very good, but I wanted to surprise you with it."

"Oh! I'm so excited," Kurt squealed, but then he quieted down again, not wanting to wake his dad, and listened, waiting for Blaine to begin.

"It's called 'It's Not Silly'." Blaine placed the can on the keyboard and began to play. It was a slow melody, and then Blaine began to sing, and Kurt broke out into a fit of giggles. He didn't know what he was expecting, but his birthday serenade was anything but serious in nature. Blaine's immature sense of humor showed through with lyrics that left Kurt in stitches. He was loving this birthday already, and it technically hadn't started yet.

"I love it," Kurt said when Blaine finished, still giggling but trying hard to conceal it.

"I thought you would." Blaine was quiet for a few moments, and Kurt got up on his knees to peer out the window.

"Are you tired?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, I think it's time for bed," Blaine answered. "I'll see you tomorrow though." Kurt could hear the smile in his voice. "Happy birthday, Kurt."

"Thank you, Blaine. I can't wait until the party."

Then Blaine pulled the cans back over to his side, and, with one final wave good night, they both slid their windows down, locked them, and climbed into their beds for the night.

-s-

Kurt took a deep breath as he set the final bowl of chips out on the table. His heart was already racing, and he couldn't contain the flurry of emotions he was feeling about the day. The Unholy Trinity would be at his party, Lucy told him over instant messenger that they were bringing Finn Hudson - _oh, Finn Hudson!_ - and Blaine would be over soon with mix cds to play. Kurt was happy, but he was also a bit nervous and scared, because Finn was the most popular guy in school. He played football and basketball and just about every sport under the sun, and he was _good_ at all of them. Sometimes Kurt wished he could be as well-liked as Finn was. Finn was everything Kurt was not: popular, tall, muscular, athletic...charming.

Every time he passed him in the hallway or glanced his way during the one class they had in common, Kurt's stomach erupted into butterflies, and he'd often find himself staring at his broad shoulders or watching his lips move when he talked to friends.

Sometimes he wanted to be Finn, and other times he wanted to be best friends with him.

Blaine had arrived first, wanting to be the first one to wish Kurt happy birthday on his big day and to give him his present.

"But you already gave me a present," Kurt said, puzzled. "I thought that's what the song was."

"That was more of a pre-birthday present, but I have something else for you," Blaine said, suddenly growing shy. He pulled a small, red box out of his pocket and handed it over to Kurt. "I hope you like it."

Kurt stared at it curiously before lifting the top, and his mouth fell agape in shock when he saw what was inside. "A...ring?"

"It's a friendship ring," Blaine said hurriedly. "I made it out of Juicy Fruit gum wrappers, since it's your favorite and all. And, I almost forgot something..." Blaine dug in his pocket and pulled out a small paper packet.

"What's that?"

"Magic wishing dust. So all your wishes and dreams come true today and every day, Kurt." Blaine smiled and then tore open the packet.

Kurt watched as he sprinkled it over the handcrafted gift, and then he giggled, admiring the glitter now stuck to the gum wrapper ring. But then his face fell, and he grew quiet.

"Do you like it...?" Blaine asked uncertainly.

"I love it, I really do." But Kurt didn't want to admit that he found it embarrassing. They had been best friends ever since Blaine moved into the neighborhood in second grade, and he loved everything he and Blaine shared, but Kurt wondered what kind of insults the kids at school would throw at him if he wore it or if they even found out about it. And what would Lucy and the other Cheerios think? There was no way they could see this, and they would be arriving soon, so Kurt thought quickly. "Weren't you going to bring music, Blaine?"

"Oh, yeah. Oops. I forgot. I can go get it though. I'll be right back." He ran up the stairs and out of the house.

Kurt looked around frantically for a place to hide it. Then he pulled open the closet door and set the box on the highest shelf he could reach and shut the door again.

The doorbell rang, and Kurt heard his father let in some guests. Kurt stood before the basement steps and waited impatiently until he saw Lucy, followed by Santana, Brittany, and...Finn. He was really here. Finn Hudson was in Kurt's house at his birthday party.

"Hey, Hummel. Did you finish that design for the new cheer uniform? We're gonna need it asap," Lucy said, flashing him a post-braces, flawless smile.

"Yeah, I'll go get it!" And Kurt raced up the two sets of stairs to his room on the second floor, grabbed the folder, and rushed back down to the basement to rejoin the party. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he handed over the work he had done.

She opened it up, turned it sideways, and flipped through the pages, a look of approval on her face. "Not bad at all, Kurt. This is actually really impressive."

"I'm so glad you like it!" He clasped his hands together and looked around at everyone to gauge their reactions, but the other guests seemed aloof and were more concerned with their fingernails or the bowls of pretzels and other snacks on the table. Finn sniffed at a cheese doodle and then popped it into his mouth.

"I do, and I'm sure Sue will be just as impressed." Santana leaned over and whispered something into Lucy's ear, and Lucy perked back up. "How about we play a game, shake things up a bit?" she said.

"Sure, like what?" Kurt asked.

"Seven Minutes in Heaven!" At that, Brittany turned around, and Finn stuffed a few more cheese doodles into his mouth before wiping the orange powder off it with his sleeve. He turned around to face the others, his interest now piqued.

"How do you play that?" Kurt asked.

"Two people go into the closet for seven whole minutes and do _whatever_ they want with each other," she explained.

"Santana and I usually just make out," Brittany piped up, and Santana smacked her hard on the arm. "Ow! What?" Santana just glared at her and crossed her arms.

Kurt felt a prickling heat rise in his neck and face, and his pulse quickened. He had never kissed anyone before, and he didn't have the slightest idea how to kiss. He had fantasized about it, yes, but he wasn't even sure there was anyone he really wanted to be his first kiss. He wanted it to be special. But he couldn't tell them that. It would reveal to them just how big of an inexperienced loser he was.

"You can go first. You're the birthday boy, after all," Lucy said, and the other girls smirked. Kurt gulped but then nodded, turning toward the closet. "Wait!" She took the scarf out of Brittany's hair and blindfolded Kurt, taking care to tie it tightly. "Go on. One of us lucky girls will meet you in there." She guided him along until his hand was on the doorknob.

Hesitantly, he opened the door, and stepped into the closet. It was closed behind him, and then he sank down to the floor. He sat there curled up in a ball, his arms wrapped around his knees. His mouth had gone completely dry from nerves, and he wondered how much longer they'd be and who would be joining him. Kurt began to rock back and forth. He didn't want to do this, but he wanted them to like him, so he couldn't chicken out. With a few deep breaths, he calmed himself down.

The door opened again upstairs, and Blaine plodded down the steps, arms laden with a stack of CDs and a small CD player. When he got to the landing, he looked around, surprised to see the girls and Finn sans Kurt.

"We're playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. He's in the closet waiting for you," Lucy said quietly in response to the bemused look Blaine gave her.

Blaine grew flush. "W-what?" he stammered, but they simply laughed and began to make their way up the stairs.

"Come on, guys. Santana picked the lock on her mom's liquor cabinet, and I'm sure that will be way less lame than this party." She had them laughing again, and soon they were up the stairs and out the door.

Blaine wasn't sure what was going on, but he set the player and the CDs down on the corner of the table and made his way over to the closet. He reached his hand out and slowly turned the knob.

Kurt heard the door click open, and a new wave of panic washed over him, but he tried to play it cool. He had to. "You finally came. I felt like I was waiting forever," Kurt said, in the sweetest, flirtiest voice he could muster. Then he reached both hands out toward Blaine.

Blaine stared at the blindfolded Kurt and then watched the corners of his perfectly pink lips turn upward. Was this really happening? Did Kurt really want this? Blaine had been thinking about it a lot lately, what it might be like to kiss Kurt, but he was his best friend - his best _guy_ friend. It was all wrong, and he didn't want to screw everything up between them. Then Kurt tilted his head and puckered his lips slightly. Blaine threw all caution to the wind and kneeled down, leaning in, nervous as anything, reaching out to interlock their fingers, which slid together so perfectly. Then he slowly brought his face closer to Kurt's, his heart beating fit to burst.

Kurt got a whiff of what smelled like raspberry and thought it must be lip gloss. "Is that you, Brittany?" Kurt asked, knowing she wore it.

"Brittany?" Blaine said, confused. "No, it's me."

Kurt froze, and his blood turned to ice. He ripped the blindfold off and backed up against the shelf, staring in confusion and disgust at Blaine, unable to form any words. Blaine stood up and took a step back, gently shaking his head, and he felt hot tears begin to gather behind his eyes as he put all the pieces together.

"Blaine!? What are you - Get out," Kurt said, fighting to keep his voice steady. Blaine backed up even more. "Get out!" Kurt yelled this time. Blaine, appalled at himself and what he had almost done, turned around and raced up the stairs and out of the house.

Kurt looked around the now empty basement, and his stomach twisted painfully before he completely lost it. He slammed the closet door in his fury, closing himself inside again. He was so humiliated that he wanted nothing more than to curl up and just die. He sank back down to the floor, sobbing brokenly, his tears streaking his face and soaking his shirt and pants. Then he began to rock back and forth again, banging his back and shoulders against the shelves.

"I hate myself. I hate everybody. I wanna be older. I wish I was a fearless, sophisticated, successful New Yorker. Then no one would pick on me. I would be in charge and calling the shots," Kurt sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

Being a teenager was not at all what he'd expected and hoped for it to be. He was doomed to be the butt of everyone's cruel jokes, to take the brunt of the popular kids' abuse as they stomped all over him to remain on top. Because he was different, but he knew that different wasn't bad, different was special. He just wished that how he felt inside could reflect on the outside. If only he could skip past it all, become an older, wiser, more attractive version of himself, go right to a time when he could be happy...

Something fell off the shelf and clattered to the floor. Kurt looked over and saw the ring box had split in two, and the gum wrapper ring was laying there, slightly crinkled. Great. Even that stupid ring was taunting him. What had Blaine even been thinking giving it to him? What was Blaine trying to do in the closet? It was all so confusing, and his stomach turned again from thinking about it. He scooped the ring and its container up in his hand, and, with a strangled yell, chucked them against the door, sending some of the glittery wishing dust up into the air. Kurt trembled for a moment, finding it hard to breathe, and then, realizing what he had done, to Blaine and to ring that he'd put so much care into making for Kurt, he closed his eyes again and cried until he couldn't anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

The overwhelming scent of lilac and vanilla circled Kurt's head, invading his nose and stirring him. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep, and he slowly blinked open his eyes and looked up. He was lying flat on his back. He wasn't in the closet anymore. Everything was white, bright, and open. Was that a skylight?

He sat bolt upright and frantically looked around, completely disoriented. When he realized he wasn't wearing a shirt, he panicked and covered his chest with his arms and hands. Wait a second. Was that muscle? He was too thin. His hands were too big. What was going on? He rolled off the bed and scrambled to his feet, desperately in search of his dad. He called out as he stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall.

That's when he heard singing coming from the bathroom, an unfamiliar man's voice, and the door was cracked, allowing steam to pour out into the hall. Then the sound of running water ceased, and Kurt heard wet footsteps on the tiled floor.

He ducked down, terrified of the stranger in the strange bathroom in the apartment that -

Kurt turned around, and his eyes widened when he noticed the large window that stretched all the way across the one wall. As he stepped toward it, his mouth fell open, and he gasped. Through it, he saw a city laid out before him, the Chrysler Building and Empire State Building rising up above the rest. He was in New York City. He was in New York City?

When Kurt turned back around, he jumped nearly a foot in the air and shrieked at the man staring back at him through the decorative mirror on the wall. His heart was thumping painfully fast, and his hands flew up to touch his face, the man in the mirror doing the same, wearing the same startled expression as he was. Oh, god. Was that -? His hair, his eyes, his skin...Kurt poked, prodded, and rubbed each part of his face to make sure it was real. And then he pinched himself.

"Ow." He rubbed the sore skin, feeling his toned bicep.

Kurt stepped backwards, collapsing onto the couch, a pile of magazines immediately catching his eye. He picked one up and turned it over, and when he saw his name printed on the address label along with the apartment number, he brought his hand to his mouth. He lived here. This was _his_ apartment.

It was real. He was older. He lived in New York City. Which could only mean...

His wish had come true.

"Hey there, angel face. You're finally awake. I was hoping you would have joined me in the -"

Kurt jumped to his feet again. "Get away from me! Stay back!" Kurt shouted at the wet, nearly naked man now standing in front of him, only a towel concealing his nether regions, and then he snapped his mouth shut, grabbing at his throat. His voice was deeper.

"Whoa there. Are you that hungover? I knew I shouldn't have let you drink that third cosmo. You're such a lightweight." He ran a hand through his damp, long, blonde hair, and Kurt's eyes drifted down to his very defined abs. After a sharp intake of breath, Kurt swallowed hard.

"I'm warning you! You need to leave before I tell -" Kurt paused, realizing his dad might not be anywhere nearby to save him. He was probably still back home in Ohio.

"Tell me what? How great last night was? How awesome the sex -"

Kurt squeaked and turned bright red.

He grinned broadly. "I can't believe you're blushing, but I guess, I mean, people do pay me to take pictures of this fa-_ab_-ulous body and to look at -"

"No! Don't!" Kurt said as the man began to peel back the towel. He covered his eyes.

He laughed. "Okay, I think I get it. You want to role play..."

Kurt needed to get away. He rushed toward the front door near which he spotted a shirt on a hanger fresh from the dry cleaner.

"Kurt?" the man called out.

He ripped into the plastic overwrap, quickly pulled the shirt on, and then looked down, noticing a few pairs of shoes lined up on a rack. Kurt slipped into a pair of moccasins, the footwear that looked the least complicated and least threatening, grabbed a jacket from off a hook on the door, and hurried out of the apartment. He ran blindly down the hall and got into the elevator, forcefully pressing the button for the lobby.

This was all too much to take in.

He walked quickly past the doorman and then pushed his way through the front doors, finding himself outside on a busy city avenue. The sun was glaringly bright, and Kurt squinted as his eyes adjusted. People were bustling about, cars, trucks, and cabs were zooming along the street, and foreign smells and a chaotic jumble of sounds smacked Kurt in the face like a tidal wave, almost knocking him back.

"Kurt! God, what took you so long? We're going to be late -"

He turned toward the source and was taken aback. "Lucy? Lucy Fabray? Is that you?" Kurt said, studying the features of the blonde woman standing expectantly by the curb, a town car idling by. It looked like her, but at the same time, something was very different.

"Are you on something? And, god, ew. No one has called me Lucy since junior high. You know I started going by my middle name...it's not so _old-fashioned._" She looked him up and down. "What on earth are you wearing? Never mind. Just get in the car so we can pick up coffee and keep our jobs at that madhouse."

"I'm not getting in the car," Kurt said. Then the naked man leaned out the window and called down to him, causing Kurt to jump. Maybe getting in the car was the lesser of two evils.

"Stop being a psycho, Kurt. Get in the damn car." She grabbed his arm, opened the door, and pushed him in and onto the seat. "Buckle up."

"Where are we going?"

"Work?" She stared at Kurt's blank face. "At Vogue dot com?"

"I work for Vogue?" Kurt said, more to himself than Lucy.

"You won't for much longer if you don't show up."

"Your middle name...?"

"Quinn, Kurt, Quinn."

"Right." Quinn. Quinn Fabray. That did have a certain ring to it.

"Whatever you're on, I might need some by the end of this day..." Quinn mumbled.

-s-

When Kurt's head finally stopped spinning from taking in his new, completely inconceivable reality, he pulled the keyboard tray out, placed his hand on the mouse, and slid it forward, jiggling it a bit. The monitor on the desk lit up, bringing him to the welcome screen:

Kurt E. Hummel

Executive Editor

Vogue*com

He had his own office with his own computer, the tower of which didn't seem to exist. There were no wires connected to anything. How did it even work? With a click, the desktop popped up, and he clicked around on some of the icons before opening up the start menu, searching for games, and clicking on solitaire. Jackpot. He and his dad had a computer at home, but Kurt wasn't really allowed on it too often or for too long because it held up the phone line. Besides, it ran insanely slow and wasn't nearly as slick or fancy as this one. This was like space-age stuff. He couldn't wait to tell Blaine.

Something started buzzing in his desk drawer, and Kurt looked down, hesitant to open it and figure out the source of the mysterious sound. Just then, a woman poked her head through the doorway of the office.

"Pardon me, Mr. Hummel, but you have a meeting in the conference room in about ten minutes."

"I do?" Kurt glanced at the time on the screen and excitement flooded through him. He was going to a meeting. It sounded so official and important, and, surely, it would be a lot of fun.

"You told me to remind you, sir."

"Oh. Yes, Yes, of course. Thank you." He tried not to laugh at how silly it sounded when she'd called him 'sir'.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked.

Kurt squinted at her name tag. "Terri." He pondered her question for a moment and then answered. "Yeah, Terri, can you find someone for me?" Kurt peeled a sticky note from the tab on the corner of his desk and scribbled down a name and phone number on the paper square before handing it over.

"'Blaine Anderson'...?" she read off slowly.

"Yes, please. I need to talk to him," Kurt said.

"No problem, Mr. Hummel. I'll have it within the hour," Terri said before ducking out of the room.

The buzzing started up again, but Kurt ignored it, deciding he'd investigate it later. He rose from his desk and rubbed his hands together. He practically skipped out of the office and headed down the hall, reading the signs on the doors and directories on the walls to locate the conference room. When he turned the corner and entered, there were already a few people seated around a long, rectangular table, and Kurt found Quinn, hurriedly taking the empty seat beside her.

"Glad you could join us today, Mr. Hummel and Ms. Fabray," a voice came from the front of the room. Kurt looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. Standing before him at the head of the room was none other than Vogue dot com's senior editor and designer extraordinaire, Isabelle Wright. "I'll assume you two were late because you were networking all night."

"Let's go with that," Quinn said nonchalantly.

Kurt was still stunned that Isabelle Wright was standing there in the flesh. And she was his boss.

"Let me cut to the chase, because I don't want to waste anyone's time. I received a call this morning, and Anna herself has threatened all our jobs because she thinks the website is 'uninspired'. There's just no fresh content. Vogue is losing its reputation to _Elle_," she said as if it tasted bitter on her tongue. Isabelle was momentarily distracted by Kurt who was sitting there, rotating his chair side to side and beaming stupidly at her. "Kurt."

"Yes?" He sat up straight.

"Are you trying to make a statement? Is this," she pointed to his clothing, "a new trend I haven't heard of yet? It's a little bold even for you. Do share."

He looked down at his outfit: a black and white houndstooth-patterned button-up dress shirt underneath a gray camo jacket and plaid pajama pants with his moccasined feet poking out the bottom. He looked back up and bit his bottom lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious. This fashion faux-pas was a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. He felt his face growing hot.

"No, wait. I see it now, Kurt. It's very Mondo Guerra. Yes, multiple patterns in a strangely unexpected and seemingly unflattering way but somehow it still - works. Very good."

He took a deep breath and looked over at Quinn who rolled her eyes at him. He may have just dodged a bullet.

"And speaking of what works, our party tonight is now even more important. I can't express how crucial it is that we make a statement that says 'Vogue is still the top fashion magazine. We're still hot, trendy, and will not go down without spilling the blood of our enemies'," Isabelle said, pounding a fist against her palm.

Kurt stared wide-eyed at her and then slowly scanned the faces of the others seated around the table. None of them looked nearly as terrified as he felt.

When the meeting concluded, Kurt was on his way back to his office but was stopped by Terri.

"I have what you asked me for," Terri said.

It took a minute for Kurt to realize what she was talking about, but then he smiled and took the paper from her. "Thank you!"

"The number you gave me was his parents' house, but I did a quick background check - and trolled social media - and found out where he is now. He's a self-proclaimed musician, one of those starving artist types, but he must be doing something right, because he lives in Greenwich Village," she rambled as she explained.

Kurt stared at the paper for a while, allowing all the information to soak in. Blaine's a musician. That made sense. He's living his dream too. "Thank you." Kurt hugged the paper to his chest. "Thank you so much!" He wrapped his arms around Terri and pulled her into a hug.

"You're welcome," she said, her eyes wide in fear. When he let go, she began to back up and brush off her jacket.

Everything was unbelievably amazing so far. His life was almost perfect, and even Blaine was here in New York with him! He couldn't wait to go see him so they could talk about how bizarre but awesome everything was, how his wish had come true, and all their dreams were as well. If anyone was going to believe him about what had happened and not judge him for it or think he was absolutely batshit, it would be Blaine. He also wanted to invite him to the party Isabelle had mentioned, because what was the point of going to a party without his best friend?


	3. Chapter 3

Back in his office, Kurt was spinning around in his chair until the buzzing from the drawer started back up again. He put his foot down and stopped himself, feeling dizzy for a moment. Then he finally got a grip on the handle and pulled it open. He tilted his head to the side and reached down to pick up the vibrating device. It looked like an iPod, but it was more screen than dial, and it was super thin and unbelievably light. The screen was lit up with an incoming call and the name "Sam Evans" underneath a picture of the same guy that was in his apartment earlier that day. It must be some sort of phone, but he didn't understand how it worked because there was no keypad, and he didn't know where you were supposed to speak into or hear out of. This was high-tech, and it was certainly no RAZR.

He wanted to press the answer button, but then he also really didn't, remembering the comments that were made and the man's behavior. The phone stopped vibrating again, and then the screen showed that he had twelve missed calls and three text messages, most of which were from Sam.

Kurt poked at the screen, delighted and intrigued when it responded to his touch, his eyes scanning all the miniscule icons, and then he saw 'Photos'. He pressed his fingertip against the icon, and several little square icons popped up. Upon closer examination, he saw that they were pictures of him - a lot of pictures of him, actually, all by himself. He didn't understand why he or anyone would want so many pictures of just themselves without any friends, although, he had to admit that he did look pretty good in them. And, in almost every single one, he was just standing there, looking directly at the camera.

He scrolled through, and then a picture popped up with him and the Sam guy. Kurt was sitting in the man's lap and kissing his cheek. It made him feel inexplicably uncomfortable, but he looked more closely at the picture, and, the longer he looked at it, the more natural it just felt. Sam Evans looked like a male model, and Kurt realized that he really liked looking at the picture. There was another photo and another one, each just as gorgeous as the previous one.

He felt something sitting heavy in his stomach as he tried to fathom what he was feeling and attempted to sort out the questions that arose from looking at the pictures.

Kurt always knew that he liked looking at men on the television and in magazines, and, as beautiful as the girls were in his school, he never really had a crush on any of them. Up until now, it hadn't occurred to him that he might like guys more than just friends. But as he looked through the pictures, focusing on one in which he was actually kissing the blond man on the mouth, he allowed himself to wonder. Maybe what he felt toward Finn Hudson had been a little more than just admiration. Maybe it was...and it hit Kurt hard right then and there. He felt like he couldn't breathe for a moment. Although it was still difficult to admit to himself, there was no denying it: he was gay. And he apparently had a very attractive boyfriend.

Now he _really _needed to talk to Blaine. He needed to confide in him. Blaine had never judged him in the past, and, if he didn't say something, he felt like he'd go mad. He had to get everything sorted out, and he was scared because he knew people got beat up for being like he was, but, now that he had Blaine's phone number and address, he snatched the paper up from the desk, and raced out of the building, oblivious to the strange looks the other employees shot his way.

He tried to hail a cab out at the curb like he'd once seen in a movie, but they kept whizzing past him. Kurt walked down to the corner and tried again, waving his hands and shouting, but still none stopped for him. Just then, a bus pulled up by where he was standing, and his focus was drawn directly to the large advertisement plastered across the side of the bus featuring an all-too-familiar man in nothing but his underwear. Kurt's eyes strayed to the monstrous bulge, and he swallowed hard.

"Oh, wow."

Sam _was_ a model. Kurt was dating an underwear model whose picture was on the side of a city bus.

-s-

Finding his attempt to hail a cab futile, Kurt began the trek through the city, being careful to follow signs. He even stopped and asked a police officer for directions at one point, and the officer gave him a funny look before offering him a friendly smile and sending him in the right direction. When he arrived at a building on the correct block, Kurt glanced down at the paper and then up at the address, and he knew that he had miraculously found Blaine's apartment.

Kurt bounced on the balls of his feet, an electricity coursing through him as he pressed his finger against the button by the name 'Anderson' at the entrance of the building. After a moment, a deep but unmistakable voice rang out through the speaker:

"Yes? Hello?"

"Blaine? Blaine Anderson?"

There was a brief silence. "This is he...is this the Thai delivery guy? If not, I'm not interested."

"No, wait, Blaine! It's me, Kurt," he pleaded.

"...Kurt?" He sounded as if he'd never heard the name before.

"Kurt Hummel -"

There was a long silence this time, then the buzzer went off to signal the unlocking of the door, and Kurt pushed his way in. He raced up the steps and along the hall, checking every door until he arrived at Blaine's apartment, 21B.

Kurt knocked on the door, his heart thumping wildly now. After what felt like forever, there was a clicking of locks and the sliding of a chain, and then the door finally swung open.

"Wow, Kurt. This is, um...unexpected. What are you doing here?"

"Blaine..."

"Yeah," he said, looking at Kurt like he had two heads.

"You - you're short," Kurt said bluntly. "And - you look so different - your hair..."

"Thanks? Did you come here to mock me or something?"

"Mock you? Why would I - ?" Kurt grew quiet. "Can I come in?"

Blaine didn't answer. Instead, he simply opened the door wider and gestured for Kurt to enter.

"I missed you so much," Kurt said, feeling himself growing tearful. "Something really strange is happening. I was at my thirteenth birthday party, and then I was here, like this, and now you're like that -"

"Are you drunk, Kurt?" Blaine asked, wearing an expression of scrutiny.

"What? No, Blaine, I'm serious! Somehow I skipped everything, and I can't remember my life. I need you to help me remember."

"Kurt -"

"Only my best friend could really help me, right? Because everything is moving so fast, and I'm confused, and I just need you -"

"Kurt," Blaine said more firmly, and Kurt stopped. "What are you talking about? I don't know anything about you or your life. We haven't even said so much as two words to each other since high school - freshman year, to be exact," Blaine said. He crossed his arms and stared questioningly at Kurt.

"That's impossible," Kurt said with a laugh. "You're my best friend, Blaine. We've always been best friends."

"No, Kurt. We _used_ to be best friends. A long time ago."

"But - oh god." Kurt felt like his entire world was crumbling and crashing down on him. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said.

After a moment, Kurt looked up, his eyes shining and tearful. "What happened to us, Blaine?"

"Are you okay? You seriously don't remember?"

"No..."

"Here, just, sit down, Kurt," Blaine said, grabbing his arms and leading him over to the couch. Kurt dropped down and grabbed one of the throw pillows, gripping it to his chest like a teddy bear as if it might shield him from further hurt.

"Why did we stop being friends?" Kurt asked in a small voice.

"We took separate paths. You made the Cheerios, became super chummy with Quinn, and then were too cool to hang out with a loser like me, the head soloist of the _show choir _and number one slushie target." Blaine shivered at a distant memory.

"I made the Cheerios?" Kurt asked.

"Yep. Co-captain. Everyone kissed your feet. Probably because they were afraid of you. And, of course, everyone voted for you for Prom King alongside Miss Queen Fabray herself. You two looked perfect together, by the way."

Kurt was so caught up in what was being said, that he was unfazed by Blaine's bitter tone and scathing comments. "I was co-captain of the Cheerios _and_ Prom King...? I got everything I wanted," he said, more to himself.

Blaine grunted. "Sure did. High school was your oyster, Kurt Hummel, and you ate up everything that was given to you...and pushed around anyone who didn't give you what you wanted."

"I don't understand..."

"What is confusing to you?"

"We're both living our dreams. I thought we were going to be so happy together, be able to celebrate together."

"Well you thought wrong. _God_, why are you doing this to me?" Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "Wanted to waltz in here out of nowhere and remind me about everything? Just so you could throw it in my face? I know I'm a loser, Kurt. Just some pathetic struggling musician who can barely afford his rent, and you..._you_ - "

"Um, I think I'm going to leave. Yeah, that's - that's a good idea," Kurt said, choking back a sob as he rose from the couch, tossing the pillow aside. "Blaine," Kurt started, suddenly remembering something from earlier. "There's a party tonight - for my work - at The Palace. It'll be fun. If you change your mind and decide you want anything to do with me, you're welcome to come. I - I want you to come." He turned around so Blaine couldn't see him as he fell apart, and, just as the tears began to fall, Kurt hastily left the apartment, nearly slamming the door behind him.

How could any of this be? It didn't make any sense to him. He would never push Blaine away, their friendship was too special, tried and tested with age...and they were comfortable, knowing that their deepest secrets were safe with each other. But Kurt no longer felt that security. Instead, he felt like the floor had opened up beneath him, and all he could do was fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Before he'd left work for the day, Kurt had slipped the cell phone into his pocket, and when he arrived back at his apartment and sat down to eat a bowl of cereal, it went off again, buzzing atop the marble kitchen counter. There was no name displayed on the screen this time, just a number, so he pressed the answer icon and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Hummel, this is Regal Limousines, and we're calling to confirm your limo for tonight at 8 PM."

"Yes!" he shrieked but then composed himself. "I mean, yes, I'll be taking the limo," Kurt said, excitement bubbling up in him, unable to believe those words were leaving his mouth.

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel. We will see you tonight and hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

The line disconnected, and Kurt set the phone on the counter. Being an adult was awesome. If he was going to the party in a limo, then it must be fancy, and he would definitely need to make sure he looked the part. He was unsure what kind of clothing he owned or would find, but he went to the bedroom in search of the closet.

The apartment was too quiet, so Kurt turned on the television in the bedroom and scrolled through the guide until he found music channels. He pressed 'OK' on one titled "Biggest Hits of the 2000s," and there on his screen was his favorite diva looking as spectacular as ever: Beyoncé. He'd never seen her look so fierce, and he drew closer to the screen, watching in awe as she worked it. With only a few hours to prepare, Kurt finally turned away in search of his wardrobe, leaving the music on for background noise.

Had he known that he'd been sitting on a treasure trove like some terrific dragon, Kurt would have never left the apartment this morning. Hanging on a mystery door was a bag with the Givenchy logo on it like an 'X' marking the spot on a treasure map, and when Kurt opened that door, his glorious discovery was an enormous walk-in closet, every shelf and rack full, floor to ceiling, wall to wall.

He was Ariel, elated, spinning circles around her cavern: Kurt Hummel had everything. He ran his hands across and fingers through Chanel, McQueen, Marc Jacobs, Vivienne Westwood, Versace, Gucci, and more. But, unlike Ariel, he didn't want to be anywhere else. He was part of the fashion world. He didn't need to dream about it anymore.

The shoes were a teenage Kurt's wet dream, and there was an entire wall filled with shelves of them. Boots of all lengths and styles, leather dress shoes, boat shoes, moccasins, wingtips, sneakers, hi-tops, and types he wasn't even sure what to call.

Kurt pulled on and took off garment after garment, admiring how each one fit his tall, slender adult frame so nicely. He took notice of how the patterns either went together or clashed and tested the way the colors coordinated, until he finally settled on an outfit he thought was perfect and stylish and worthy of a Vogue party. He felt like a model and never could have imagined that puberty would treat him so kindly.

His hair was his next concern, so Kurt ventured into the bathroom. Sitting on the counter was an assortment of various skincare and hair products, all foreign to Kurt. What was all this gunk? He'd never seen so many little bottles, tubes, or mini tubs of creams, oils, and powders, and he scrunched up his face at them. More and more, he was finding his adult self to be quite strange and decided he wouldn't touch the stuff.

Recognizing a container of pomade and a can of hairspray, Kurt grabbed the comb off the sink and went to work. He thought back to a style he had seen in a magazine once on a male model, and he did his best to recreate the look with his own hair. Even if he hadn't been very successful, he at least managed to style his hair up in the front to get it out of his eyes.

Perhaps the time spent in the bathroom with his hair waswasted, because when Kurt discovered his hoard of accessories, he chose what he believed to be the perfect finishing touch for his outfit: a hat. Once it was on his head and he'd adjusted it so it sat just right, he checked the time and then made his way down to the lobby to impatiently await his limousine, his own golden carriage that would carry him to another part of his life that was nothing short of pure fairytale.

-s-

Once he was inside the marvelous hotel and was directed into the ballroom, Kurt scanned the crowd until he spotted Quinn over by the bar. He practically glided over to her, arms open and grinning as he greeted her.

"Hi, Quinn!"

She turned around, and nearly spit out her drink. "Um, hello, Kurt." Quinn's eyes ran the length of his body before they fixed on his head, or what was on top of his head, actually.

"Can I get anything for you, sir?" a server asked as he made his rounds of the ballroom.

"Oh!" Kurt had to think about it for a second. "I'll take a strawberry daiquiri," he said. "Not virgin," he added with a wink. The man simply nodded and walked behind the bar.

"Kurt! Quinn!" Isabelle came seemingly out of nowhere and threw her arms around Quinn. "Don't you look like a delicious orange-raspberry sherbet in Kate Spade, darling. I could eat you up!"

Then Isabelle turned toward Kurt, grabbing his arms to look him up and down. She scrutinized him for a long moment, taking in his Dr. Martens, black skinny pant, white straight-jacket complete with keys, black dress shirt underneath, his leather, fingerless gloves, and then the black top hat upon his head. Kurt began to grow nervous, but then she smiled and finally spoke. "Very retro punk, yet classic gentleman. You've been coming up with some very interesting combinations lately, Kurt. You look fabulous!"

Quinn rolled her eyes and began to take large, successive gulps of her drink.

"I hope you make some good connections tonight, and impress some people. I'll catch up with you two later." Isabelle stepped away, and Kurt turned back toward Quinn.

"This is going to be so much fun, Quinn! We can dance together like back in high school and drink..._legally_," Kurt said.

"Sure, Kurt," she responded, her eyes traveling to another point in the room. Kurt soon realized that something was distracting Quinn, making her glum, and he didn't want her bad mood to ruin his evening. So, as soon as he was handed the drink he'd ordered, Kurt wandered off on his own.

The DJ was playing something that no one seemed to care for, and, much to Kurt's dismay, the dance floor was empty. The guests were gathered in small clusters along the perimeter, sipping drinks and engaging in quiet conversation.

After the daiquiri, Kurt had another drink, and then another, losing track as the evening progressed, and he began to feel very loopy, a feeling he could only equate to the one time he and Blaine had stayed up all night until the sun rose, his body simultaneously both heavy and light. And everything was hilarious. But then he felt like he was swimming underwater, unsteady on his feet, as he made his way through the guests and back over to Quinn who hadn't strayed far from the bar.

"Are you having fun? I am. I met this woman -" he giggled, "with a _bird_ on her head. And then I saw two people _kissing_ by the bathrooms." His giggling fit went on until he stopped to catch his breath. Quinn was still paying him no mind. Then Kurt looked around, noticing the dwindling crowd. "Why is everyone leaving?"

"This party is lame, Kurt. It's a total flop," Quinn said. "If there wasn't an open bar, everyone would have left by now."

"It's probably because this music sucks," he said bluntly and quite loudly.

"If you have a better idea of what constitutes good dance music, then by all means, go request something," Quinn said, waving her hand toward the DJ's booth.

"Maybe I will," Kurt said, and then he turned around and drunkenly plodded across the room and over to the man with the laptop. When Kurt approached the table, the man took his headphones off.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes. You can stop putting people to sleep and play something we can dance to," Kurt said.

"Like...?"

"Well, how about a little something by the Queen B herself."

The DJ narrowed his eyes but then nodded as if he understood, immediately moving to his computer to type and click around a bit. Kurt turned away to face the room as the current song faded out, and then the beat and opening chorus of the next began to pump through the speakers. Recognition flashed across his face. It was the song from the music video he'd seen earlier.

_"All the single ladies..."_

The guests began to stir and react to the sudden shift in the music and atmosphere, and soon all eyes were on Kurt who was stepping out onto the dance floor, propelled by the liquid courage he had consumed, his hips already beginning to sway in time.

"Quinn!" he called out, but she stared back at him with a horrified expression and shook her head. "Quinn! Come dance!" He waved her toward him, but she turned away and hid her head in a fresh drink.

_"Don't pay him any attention..."_

That's when Kurt turned and saw Blaine standing at the edge of the crowd. He couldn't believe he had actually shown up, but then he got a fresh burst of excitement because, surely, he could get Blaine, his old dance partner, to dance with him.

"Blaine, come dance with me!"

Everyone turned to see who Kurt was addressing, and Blaine looked around nervously. He stepped back, but Kurt ran forward and grabbed his hand, tugging him out onto the floor.

"I don't know this one, Kurt," Blaine said.

"Yes you do! It's Beyoncé," Kurt said. "Remember?" He pulled on Blaine's wrist again until he was by his side, and Blaine hesitantly began to step to the beat, watching Kurt and following his lead. Kurt did his best to imitate what he had seen in the video, delighted when he saw Blaine keeping up with him with a sort of ease. Now every molecule in Kurt's body was vibrating from the bass, and he felt a rush from dancing again.

Curious and amused partygoers began to laugh, chatter, sway, and tap their feet to the music. Kurt kept going, moving and acting out the lyrics, Blaine beside him, falling into step as they had done before so many years ago.

_"If you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it..."_

A few people entered the floor and joined them. People began to clap to the beat, and the crowd turned into a sea of smiling faces. Little by little, people joined the dance, and then, to Kurt's surprise and glee, Quinn set her drink down and began to dance with the group.

It was working, Kurt was really doing it, he was saving the party. But the icing on the cake was when Isabelle ran up to join Kurt at the head of the group, beaming and shaking her head like she couldn't believe it.

"You're wonderful, Kurt!" she shouted over the music. "I could kiss you!" But as she spoke, Kurt didn't notice Blaine begin to step away.

_"Pull me into your arms, say I'm the one you want_

_If you don't, you'll be alone, and like a ghost, I'll be gone..."_

He caught Blaine's departure out of the corner of his eye and tried to pull him back, but Blaine was too quick. He mouthed "I'm sorry" and then disappeared into the crowd on his way out of the building. Kurt continued to dance until the song ended, but his heart sank because he had lost Blaine once again.


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt woke up at noon the next day and rolled over in his bed, his head almost immediately beginning to pound from the light shining through a space in the curtains. He yawned and sat up, stretching, and then his stomach turned, and he felt something threatening to come back up. That was when he knew he had overdone it at the party. After rushing to the bathroom to empty his stomach, Kurt brushed his teeth and then went to find something he might be able to keep down, grumbling during the entire process.

Soon enough, his spirits were lifted, and, after a shower, some tea, and half a bagel, he felt refreshed and ready to take on the day. It was Saturday, his day off, and he wondered what he was going to do with himself. After discovering his wallet in which were numerous credit cards, Kurt knew exactly what he could do. He was in the heart of New York City with 5th Avenue and Broadway only a stroll or cab ride away. And he had money.

-s-

Kurt gazed out over the rippling waters, gripping onto the railing on the deck of the ferry. He could see her, Lady Liberty, standing tall on Liberty Island with Ellis Island not too far off. The ferry was drawing ever closer as it cut through the dark waters of the Hudson River, and Kurt grew more anxious with each passing second.

It wasn't long before Kurt started to second guess his decision to climb all the way up to the top of the statue, but, upon seeing the fearless children ascending the steep, narrow spiral stairway around him, Kurt took a deep breath and continued on. His fear of heights really began to hit him after a few more flights, and he looked behind him, certain now that he wanted to abort the mission. But what he saw when he looked back was the face of the sweetest little girl with shining blue eyes staring back at him questioningly. She couldn't have been much older than six.

"Are you gonna keep going, mister?" she said.

"Uh, y-yeah," Kurt answered. "I'm just - I'm a little scared. I've never done this before."

"I was scared the first time I was here too, but my mommy held my hand to make me feel better. Now I can do it all by myself!" she said, proudly puffing out her chest. Kurt looked a short distance down past the girl and spotted her mother who smiled at him and then apologized. "I can hold your hand if you want me to," the child offered, reaching out.

Kurt's chest filled with warmth, and then, before he could respond, she slipped her little hand into his. He felt uneasy, but then her mother spoke.

"It's alright," she assured him. "Go on."

Kurt swallowed and nodded. With her warm little hand in his, they walked up the stairs together, and when they reached the crown, Kurt finally exhaled.

The view was incredible, and he could think of nothing that compared. From up here, Kurt could see the New York City skyline etched across the horizon, so tiny and almost fragile-looking, like a little Lego city. He hadn't entered New York in the way he had hoped, couldn't remember when he'd first arrived, but it was his city now, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion as he looked on.

As wonderful as the whole Statue of Liberty experience was, Kurt was happy to be back on the ground again where he felt he could breathe more easily. He boarded the ferry back to Battery Park, consulted the map program he had found on his phone, which he was quickly finding to be like a miniature computer, and set it to send him to his next destination: Bloomingdale's.

He felt like a fish out of water when he entered the grand building, but people greeted him as if they knew him, and some even rushed to offer him aid. It was crazy how they attended him, and he felt like royalty as he tried on several shirts, jackets, shoes, pants, bags, and even hats, many of which he charged and had boxed up and bagged to take with him. With every swipe of his credit card, he felt the power flowing through him, and he finally thought he knew what it felt like to be an adult.

When his legs were tired and feet began to ache in his Ralph Lauren Oxfords, his arms laden with his spoils from the day, Kurt took a cab home, but his forays into adulthood didn't end there.

He laid on his belly stretched across his bed with his eyes glued to the screen of the television, having discovered Showtime. His hands covered his mouth as he watched, intrigued, confused, sometimes uncomfortable and unsure how he should feel, but completely engrossed in a show completely centered around gay culture with handsome male leads. So that was how it worked, Kurt thought, feeling his body grow unbelievably hot as two men began to become intimate, not realizing that he had begun to touch himself until he was almost coming. He felt so ashamed, but he also really liked how it all felt.

Kurt's eyes had been opened, and he began to better understand and embrace a part of himself that he hadn't entertained much in the past, had tried to suppress even, unsure of what exactly it was he'd been feeling. He jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he rolled over and pulled it out to discover a text message from Quinn:

_7:43 PM_

_Therapy at 9?_

Kurt paused, reading back over the message a few times, before typing out and sending a reply.

**_7:44 PM_**

**_huh?_**

_7:44 PM_

_the bar, you dumbass. I wanna go out but I'd rather avoid creepy men_

**_7:45 PM_**

**_why won't there be men there?_**

_7:46 PM_

_oh there will be plenty of men don't you worry, but they won't be looking at me._

**_7:47_**

**_okay...where?_**

_7:47_

_Therapy. 348 W 52nd St. just show up, Hummel. _

-s-

Kurt arrived at almost precisely 9 PM, terrified of what Quinn might do to him if he didn't. Dressed in one of the new outfits he'd purchased earlier that day, he walked up to the bouncer who admitted him without asking for identification. Kurt almost ran into the building once he was past him, afraid that the guy would realize he had made a terrible mistake and change his mind.

Quinn was just inside the door waiting for him, and as soon as he entered, she linked her arm in his and led him over to the bar, which Kurt was realizing must be one of Quinn's favorite places to be.

"You really do like to drink, don't you," Kurt said.

"Yeah, and so do you -" She signaled for the bartender. "Two appletinis, please! - what's your point?" she said, turning back to Kurt.

"Nothing," Kurt said. "It's just something I noticed."

"Well, for being so observant, you sure are oblivious to some things," she said, trying to point inconspicuously at someone seated down the bar. "Glasses over there has been checking you out since you came in."

"What? Really? Who?" Kurt asked, turning around on the stool to look.

Quinn waved, the guy waved back, and then she beckoned him with a knowing grin. "I need to step away for a moment. Have fun." She winked, grabbed her drink, and wandered off into the gradually growing bar crowd.

Kurt wasn't sure what had just happened, but then a dark-haired, burly man with red-framed Ray Bans slid into the seat that Quinn had just vacated.

"Hey, there," the man said. "If you didn't already have a drink, I'd ask if I could buy you one."

"Why would you want to do that?" Kurt asked.

The guy laughed. "You're cute, and you're funny. Jared's the name," he said, offering his hand.

"I'm Kurt," he said and then took the offered hand to shake.

"So, Kurt. What brings you here tonight?"

"My friend Quinn told me to meet her here. Said that guys won't look at her here, which I don't understand, because she's really pretty."

Jared began to laugh but then stopped himself when he noticed that Kurt wasn't joking and was seriously confused. "Oh...um, Kurt, this is a gay bar."

"It is? It's...oh. _Oh_." Kurt took a few sips of the appletini Quinn had ordered for him, not knowing if the heat in his face was from the alcohol or his embarrassment, and then glanced around the bar again. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. Even after watching that television show, he really was oblivious. Quinn was right: the guys wouldn't be looking at her - they were looking at _him_.

Kurt felt himself growing even hotter and tugged at his collar. Then he almost screamed when an arm snaked around his waist and nearly pulled him off the stool.

"I thought I'd find you here, angel face," a familiar voice spoke in his ear. A chill ran the length of Kurt's body, raising goosebumps on his skin, and he turned his head to see Sam who was now leaning in to kiss his neck. Kurt clammed up and tried to push him away.

"Oh, I see," Jared said, and then he rose from the stool. "See you around, Kurt." And as soon as Kurt blinked, he was gone.

"You've been avoiding me, playing hard to get," Sam said by Kurt's ear. "You haven't answered my calls. What's going on?"

"No, no, nothing. Nothing's going on," Kurt said.

"Good, because I was afraid you had found someone else."

"Hey..." A man came up behind Sam and touched his arm to get his attention. Sam turned and grinned, shaking his hand and nodding in response to something Kurt couldn't hear being said to him. The guy on Kurt's other side whispered something to the girl he was with and then turned in his seat, stretching his neck out to get a good look at Sam.

Kurt began to feel inexplicably angry, not at all liking the way people were gravitating toward Sam and talking to and touching him. He had the urge to reach out and pull Sam back toward him, but he stopped himself, wondering why it even mattered to him. He didn't really know anything about Sam, and even though he was apparently dating him, and he was undoubtedly attractive, Kurt didn't have any actual feelings for him.

But he did start to wonder what it would be like to kiss him, not necessarily him, but any man at all. Knowing that he had before in the past but couldn't remember it made Kurt feel a bit wistful. If it was anything like what he saw on that show, he was both very curious and very afraid of what it might lead to.

"_Kurt?_" another familiar voice cut through his consciousness.

Kurt shifted in his seat. "Blaine?"

"Hey," he said, coming into view. "Well, I never thought I'd run into you here."

"Quinn made me come - she's around here somewhere. Wait." Kurt paused, realizing that Blaine was also here, in a gay bar. "Why are _you_ here?"

"I'm here with Sebastian, my -"

"His fiancé," Sebastian finished for him, coming up on his side. "And who is this, Blaine?"

"This is Kurt, Kurt Hummel. He works for Vogue, and...we used to know each other back in grade school."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt from grade school," Sebastian said, but the sneer on his face and the look in his eyes said otherwise. "We were just about to go dance." He looked past Kurt over his shoulder at an approaching figure.

"Are these friends of yours, Kurt?" Sam asked, looking Blaine and Sebastian up and down.

"This is Blaine Anderson...we grew up together, and this is his friend - Sebastian," Kurt said.

"Fiancé," Sebastian corrected.

"Right. Weird." Kurt downed the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the counter, his head beginning to spin.

"Well, I'm glad I did run into you here, because I wanted to apologize for running out of the party like I did," Blaine told Kurt. "I had to go home and get some sleep so I wasn't a zombie at work the next day."

"Wow, Hummel. Impressive. I leave you to chat up one guy, and I come back to you with three guys. That's hot." Quinn set her empty glass on the bar and called to the barkeep for another drink.

"And who's this lovely lady?" Sebastian said.

Quinn giggled. "Quinn Fabray, and thank you."

"I call them as I see them," Sebastian added with a wink. Then he turned and nodded at Sam. "And Kurt here has snagged himself a killer. I can't believe you're dating an underwear model," Sebastian said. "Anyone who's not blind knows what you're packing, Sam Evans." Kurt was repulsed by the way Sebastian was now shamelessly eyeing Sam, his gaze traveling downward and hovering at Sam's groin, especially since he didn't seem to care that Blaine was right there.

"'The law says you cannot touch, but I think I see a lotta lawbreakers up in this house tonight'," Sam spoke in a strange drawling voice that made Kurt jerk his head back and look at Sam as if he'd just obnoxiously let one rip. "'Heeyy'..."

Blaine looked to Kurt who looked back and shrugged, Sebastian was seemingly too mesmerized by Sam's body to even notice, now grinning stupidly as he chewed on his bottom lip, and Quinn was drinking furiously again, trying not to choke on it, coughing and spluttering when she finally set it down.

"Matthew McConaughey...? 'C'mon'," Sam said again in the same voice, and Kurt rolled his eyes, wishing then that he had another drink.

"Wait a minute," Quinn cut in, finally recognizing Blaine. "Hobbit? Is that you? You're all grown up. Like, you actually grew a few inches."

"Ah, Quinn Fabray...you look a little different too. Did you get a nose job...?" Blaine asked circling his index finger in the air in front of his face. That's when Kurt noticed the ring for the first time, and it made him feel queasy.

"You're hilarious," she scoffed. "You better make sure you wax so people don't think you climbed out of Middle Earth."

Kurt had tuned out the conversation which had become nauseating. He was still stuck on the words 'his fiancé'...Sebastian...Blaine...fiancé. There was a ring on his finger. Blaine was getting married. He was getting _married_? Kurt began to feel like there was a whirlwind in his head, and he lowered it and held it in his hands. He needed to get out of there.

"What's wrong, Kurt?" Blaine asked, the first to notice he had checked out and that something wasn't quite right.

"I just - I need some air," Kurt said.

"I'll take care of this," Sam said, stepping in and shooting Blaine a curious look. "Come on. Let's go. I'll take you back to my place where you can relax."

"Back to your...?" Kurt looked over at Quinn and then grabbed her, pulling her toward him. "Should I go with him?"

"Yeah, you deserve it. Go have some fun," she said.

Sam wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulders and guided him off the stool. "See you guys around," he said and then escorted a woozy Kurt out of the bar and into the street. Sam hailed a cab, and they climbed in.

When the cab stopped in front of an apartment building, Kurt climbed out of the car behind Sam, who kept trying to grab his hand, but, every time Sam's fingers would brush against his own, Kurt would jerk his hand away.

Kurt had always imagined that dating someone would be just like having a best friend only sometimes that friend held your hand, or hugged you, or maybe even kissed you. They would be someone with whom you could eat pizza, watch movies, and play games. When he and Blaine used to have sleepovers, they would eat junk food and play Blaine's GameCube or Sims on his computer, and Kurt wondered what types of games Sam had and how exactly he was supposed to act with him. Quinn _had_ told him to go have some fun.

Once inside Sam's apartment, Kurt was led over to the couch where he sank down into the cushions and leaned back, closing his eyes in hopes it would ease his headache. Then a strong arm snaked around his waist, and Kurt jumped, his eyes flying open to see Sam there on the couch next to him. Sam leaned forward and nuzzled his nose into the crook of Kurt's neck, sending uncomfortable tingles through his body, and then pressed his mouth against Kurt's skin.

It tickled, and Kurt pushed Sam away, nervous laughter escaping him, but, the more Kurt pushed him away, the harder Sam tried to get closer to continue kissing him. Kurt scooted all the way to the end of the couch and was now close to falling off it.

Sam's fingers found the collar of Kurt's shirt, and he began to unbutton it, working his way down rather quickly and adeptly.

"St-stop," Kurt said, his voice trembling.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, finally pulling away to give Kurt some space.

"I just - I thought we were going to play a game or something," Kurt said.

"Oh," Sam said, as if he just figured something out. "I know what this is about. Ever since I told you about my past, you've been curious. How about a strip tease, White Chocolate style?"

Kurt furrowed his brow and began to shake his head, but Sam had already risen from the couch and turned away, pulling his own shirt up over his head with such practiced ease. When Sam turned around and began to undo his pants, Kurt's hands flew up to cover his eyes.

"Oh, god, please put your pants back on," Kurt said, grabbing a decorative pillow and pressing it to his face. "I don't want to see that," he said, his voice muffled against the pillow. When Kurt pulled the pillow away, Sam was standing there in his boxer briefs, flexing his arms and abs, and doing this weird body roll while seemingly checking himself out.

"You can touch if you want," Sam said, and he took a step closer to Kurt.

"What is it with you and taking your clothes off? I think I'm gonna be sick," Kurt mumbled, covering his mouth and averting his gaze, attempting to look at anything in the room except Sam.

"Fine, Kurt. We can just go to bed," Sam said reluctantly, his voice growing softer. "I can be the big spoon, ya know, how you always like it."

"I'll stay here," Kurt said quickly, curling up into a ball against the arm of the couch.

"You're not gonna join me, babe?"

"No, I don't feel good. My stomach hurts. Can't I just sleep right here?"

Sam pouted. "Alright, but remind me to not let you drink so much next time."

Much to Kurt's relief, Sam gathered up his discarded clothing from where they had landed in a pile on the floor and began to trudge toward the other side of the apartment. He turned around one last time. "Good night, Kurt," he said and then stepped inside his bedroom and closed the door.


	6. Chapter 6

The conference room was abuzz as Kurt settled into his usual seat at the table next to Quinn. Kurt caught snippets of conversations, most about what people had done over the weekend and some that sounded like they were complaining about the malfunctioning espresso machine in the breakroom.

Isabelle cleared her throat, and all heads snapped up and turned in her direction to face the head of the table. A hush fell over the group, and Kurt squirmed in his seat, wary of the tired expression on his boss's face.

"Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I'm afraid that I have to be the bearer of bad news. The quarterly report came in this morning, and our numbers are down since the last and are utterly dismal. Elle's ratings have soared while Vogue has sunk deeper and deeper. I'm afraid Anna is one phone call away from having all of our heads if we don't do something drastic." She paused and took a deep breath. "We need to redesign the website."

"You mean, give it a makeover?" someone piped up. Kurt's attention was piqued at the mention of a makeover.

"More like a complete overhaul," Isabelle said. Murmurs went around the table before she spoke again. "I know this is a huge responsibility, but that's why I'm entrusting my executive editors, Kurt and Quinn, to take charge of this project."

Kurt gulped audibly and Quinn sat up stock-still in her chair. When Kurt looked over to gauge her reaction, she remained stoic and expressionless and didn't acknowledge the look of pure terror on Kurt's face.

He had no idea what he was doing.

Sure, he had been reading Vogue for years, had even designed a few things in the past, and he had recently been catching up with a lot of the fashion lingo and latest trends just from being immersed in it at work and from watching certain television shows, but redesigning a website was nothing he had any experience with. More than ever, he would need Quinn's help, and now that the fate of the entire team was on his shoulders, he felt an uncomfortable tightness growing in his chest.

"You two have a week. Next Wednesday we will meet back here, and you will pitch to me what you've come up with, and, god help us all, you come up with something good enough, spectacular even."

Kurt just stared, wide-eyed, and then he began to nod. Okay. He could do this. He had to do this. It was going to be alright.

He turned to Quinn, but before he could open his mouth, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "I'm going to work alone, and you should do the same. Good luck."

They were all screwed.

-s-

Kurt paced his office, thinking, digging desperately for an idea, anything to spark his creative process. But after an hour, he still had nothing. As he stood there staring blankly at the wall, Terri knocked and then poked her head into his office, stirring him.

"Uh, Mr. Hummel, I have your messages from today. Would you like me to read them to you or just leave them on the desk?"

"You can just leave them," he said. "I'll look them over. Thank you."

"Okay. And you have a visitor. David Karofsky, Sara from the art department's husband -"

She was cut off when a very burly, well-dressed man pushed his way past her and into Kurt's office. Kurt shrank away, feeling intimidated by his stature. The guy could have easily been a linebacker, and Kurt's first instinct was to steel himself for any kind of abuse that might come his way. But the grin that the man wore put Kurt at ease, and when he spoke, he didn't seem very threatening at all.

"Hey, Kurt," he greeted with a sly smile, a smile that said he knew something that Kurt didn't. "I was just stopping by and thought I'd see how you were." David turned toward Terri who was still standing by the door. "Do you mind?" he said. She jumped and then took off, allowing him to close the door.

"I - I'm good," Kurt answered, still completely unaware of his relationship to this man.

Then David stepped forward and grabbed Kurt's face, pressing his mouth roughly against Kurt's. Kurt panicked and squeaked, immediately raising his knee with force, connecting it with the man's groin, and then pressed his hands to his broad chest to push him off of him.

David broke away with a groan and a pained look, clutching at the tender area which Kurt had just assailed. "What the fuck, Kurt? What did you do that for?"

"What did I - ? Why did you do that?!" Kurt asked as he stood there in shock.

"I missed you," the man said, taking a step toward Kurt again, who shook his head and walked behind his desk to put space and a large, solid object between them.

"But - you - you _kissed_ me!" Kurt spluttered. "You're married. To one of my coworkers. You're married to a woman!"

"That didn't seem to bother you before," David said, placing his hands on the desk and leaning in toward Kurt. "It's our little secret."

"Get out," Kurt said evenly. "Get away from me."

"Calm down," the man said. "No one's going to find out."

"Oh my god," Kurt said. "Get the hell out right now or I'm going to call security."

"Whoa. Fine. I'll leave." David narrowed his eyes at Kurt and then slowly stepped backward toward the door. He placed his hand on the handle, shot Kurt one more look that was a mixture of hurt and confusion, and then let himself out.

Kurt couldn't fathom what had just taken place. Had he been having an affair with a married man? Was he a closeted married man's illicit rendezvous partner?

Kurt had no idea who he was anymore, and what he was finding out, he really didn't like. He was disgusted with himself.

And that man kissed him. Kurt had never been kissed before, and now he felt robbed.

To take his mind off of what had just happened, Kurt took a seat and picked up the pile of recorded messages Terri had left for him. As he began to read, tears almost immediately sprung to his eyes, words filled with hatred and venom from people whom he had never met in his life accusing him of so many unspeakable things.

It felt like someone had taken hold of his stomach and was now squeezing and twisting it until he was almost certain he was going to lose his lunch. His phone dinged on his desk, and he was reluctant to check it, seeing Sam's name displayed with a text notification, but he opened it up to read, his vision blurred by tears:

_11:17 AM_

_I know you haven't been feeling so hot, so I want to come over and play doctor. I think a dose of Little Sam will make you feel so much better_

Then a second text came through:

_11:18 AM_

_Little Sam can also check your temperature...you can decide if you want it in your mouth or somewhere else ;)_

Kurt stood up and tossed the phone into his bag, wiping his hands off on his pants as if the phone was contaminated and he might catch something from it. He shuddered, the text still burned into his vision, and then he slumped to the floor, curling up into a ball, his knees at his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so awful except perhaps the time a group of popular boys and jocks grabbed him after school and tossed him into a dumpster, making him feel like that was where he belonged. Because that was what he was, wasn't it? Nothing but waste and garbage.

He had thought that everything had turned out great for him, that he was living his biggest dreams and fantasies, but the more he learned about how he'd gotten there and who he had become, the more Kurt wished that there was something he could do to take it all back. He had lost Blaine, Quinn didn't seem all that invested in their friendship and was leaving him high and dry with this project, people hated him, and he was an adulterer and a cheater with a boyfriend whose feelings he couldn't reciprocate at all.

He felt so lost, and his chest ached with guilt and regret. How had it all spiraled out of control? Kurt cried into his gray dress pants, leaving dark, wet spots on the knees, his face hidden in his arms. There had to be some way he could right all the wrong that had been done, some way to prove that he wasn't the terrible person people thought he was. Kurt was just a thirteen-year-old boy who by some twist of fate had ended up in a twisted future, and he really needed his best friend right now.

-s-

The buzzer went off, and Blaine pulled on a t-shirt before answering the intercom. He found it odd that someone was calling because he hadn't been expecting anyone.

"Blaine. I need to talk to you."

His chest swelled at the sound of the familiar voice, though he wasn't sure what the emotions really were that he was feeling. Kurt had suddenly made a reappearance in his life, came completely out of the blue and blindsided him when the timing was all wrong, and Blaine was feeling more and more conflicted with each passing day.

He buzzed Kurt in, and a few moments later, Kurt was at his door, his knuckles rapping lightly against it.

"I need you, Blaine," Kurt choked out through a sob, tears shining in his eyes as he stood before Blaine in the dim, drab hallway, framed by the doorway.

"Give me a second to grab a jacket. We can go for a walk," Blaine responded, his heart aching because he couldn't stand to see Kurt cry, to see him look so wrecked like this. He would do anything to rid him of whatever was ailing him and causing him to hurt. He would always do anything for Kurt.

Once they were out on the street, walking down the pavement with no destination, Blaine remained quiet, waiting for Kurt to initiate the conversation when he was ready, to get whatever it was off his chest that he needed to.

"Do you ever feel like things are happening so fast that you've lost control and now you're not sure who you are or what you want anymore?" Kurt finally spoke.

Blaine was quiet as he contemplated Kurt's question.

"I don't know, Kurt." Blaine shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"So, you - you're getting married?" Kurt asked, his voice small and barely audible.

"Yeah," Blaine answered, looking down and watching his feet as they walked. "Soon."

"Is he - is Sebastian your soul mate?" Kurt asked.

"I - I don't think I believe in any of that stuff, Kurt. We're happy, and what we have works, but I don't think that any two people are meant to be together."

Kurt was quiet, and then he stopped in his tracks, causing Blaine to halt as well. "What did I do, Blaine? What did I do to you that made us stop talking?" Kurt couldn't suppress his tears, and they began to roll silently down his cheeks. He sniffled and reached up to swipe them away with his hand.

"I don't remember," Blaine said.

"You do, though, Blaine, and I need you to tell me."

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh and looked back at Kurt. Suddenly, it was like he was seeing his best friend again, and he felt his resolve crumbling.

"It was - it was right after your thirteenth birthday party, Kurt," he began. "That's when we stopped being friends. But, you don't have to worry. It's in the past," Blaine said, not wanting to finish.

"I need to know," Kurt said brokenly.

Blaine cringed. "Alright. Alright. It was the day after your party, and you came over my house. You - you told me you hated me and my stupid," he hesitated, the next word catching in his throat, "_faggy_ ring - the one I had made for you...and then you threw it into the garbage in my bedroom. When you walked out, you told me to stay away from you, that you never wanted to talk to me again."

"No, no, no," Kurt breathed. "No, Blaine, please tell me I - I -"

"I told you, Kurt. It's in the past, please don't dwell on it."

"But I was awful to you, and I can't believe I ever treated you like that. I'm so sorry, Blaine. God, I would take it all back if I could. I - I'm a terrible person," Kurt said through sobs. "I need to go. I'm so sorry." He covered his face and began to sprint off, quickly putting space in between him and Blaine.

"Kurt!" Blaine called after him, but he was already too far away. His heart sank into his stomach as he stood there paralyzed, only capable of watching Kurt once again turn his back on him and leave him behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt kept running until his muscles began to burn and he couldn't anymore, kept running until his lungs were aching, his mouth was dry, and his feet were sore. He finally slowed down as he reached the corner on the block of his apartment building, nearly doubling over and wheezing as he pinched a cramp in his side.

He entered the building, his head in a haze, and when he pushed the door of his empty apartment open, he only had one thing on his mind. He had no one here. He needed to get out, needed to leave the city. He needed his dad more than anything in the world.

Kurt quickly threw a few outfits into a small suitcase and zipped it up. Then he grabbed his wallet and his keys, called for a cab to take him to the airport, and boarded the first plane back to Ohio.

When he was finally standing outside his childhood home, seemingly untouched by time, Kurt felt his tears begin to flow again. He found the spare key still in the same spot as it always had been, and he let himself into the house.

Dust particles drifted through the beams of dying sunlight streaming in through the curtains, and he inhaled deeply, the scent of pine, motor oil, and that Hawaiian Breeze air freshener that was always in the house - the scent of his father, the scent of home.

And then Kurt carefully descended the basement steps and made his way toward the closet, the last place he could ever remember being before his entire life flashed forward and careened out of control. He pulled open the door, stepped inside, and closed the door before slumping to the floor, closing his eyes tightly, wishing, wishing with all his might that he could go back and start all over again. Then he began to rock back and forth, banging his back and shoulders up against the shelves, and then cried openly, loudly, and pitifully, no longer holding anything back.

Kurt didn't hear the front door open or the heavy footfalls of the man on the floor above. He didn't hear his father hesitantly make his way down the stairs to investigate the strange banging sounds coming from the basement, and he didn't hear his father open the door of the closet. But when Kurt saw his face, he immediately rose to his feet and flung himself into the confused man's arms and buried his face in his shoulder.

"Dad," he said, his voice muffled against the material of his shirt. "I missed you so much."

"Kurt," was all Burt could manage as he held onto his only son, the man he hadn't seen since the previous Christmas, and only for a few hours before he took off to the home of the family of the man he'd brought with him. It was as if he blinked, and Kurt had disappeared.

"Can we talk?" Kurt asked, pulling away and out of his dad's embrace.

"Yeah, Kurt, whatever you need. Is it alright if we, uh, go upstairs to the kitchen? I need something to eat. I'll make you some coffee or something."

"Can it be tea? Peppermint?"

"Of course, kid." Burt paused for a moment. "It's really good to see you again. I really missed you too."

Up in the kitchen, Burt set the teakettle on the stove and reached into the cabinet for a mug for Kurt. He set it down on the table in front of him with a teabag and a spoon and then went into the fridge for ingredients to fix himself a sandwich. When a shrill whistle cut through the air, Burt turned off the burner, lifted the kettle, and carried it over to the table to pour the steaming liquid into Kurt's cup.

Kurt wrapped his hands around the cool ceramic, gradually warming up from its contents, and dropped the teabag in, just breathing slowly in and out as he watched and waited for it to steep.

Burt took a seat across the table, and Kurt finally lifted his head.

"What's going on with you, Kurt?"

"Have you ever...has there ever been something in your life that you regret and you wish you could go back and do it over?" Kurt asked.

"Well, sure, there are some things I wish I could relive, but I don't have any regrets."

"Really? None at all?"

"Really. Even if I could go back, I'd do it all over again the same way, make all the same mistakes, drop out of college, marry your mother, love her as deeply as I could for as long as time allowed, raise you like I did...everything, Kurt."

"Why would you make the same mistakes if you knew they were mistakes?"

"Because if I never made them, then I never woulda learned, and I wouldn't be who I am today," Burt said.

Kurt blew on his tea, sending a ripple across its surface, and then took a sip, the heat of the beverage washing over him and flowing through his body. The peppermint cooled his mouth, cleared his sinuses, and sent a tingling sensation across his tongue.

Kurt took another sip of his tea as he tried to understand the advice his father had to offer. He had definitely learned something from his mistakes, though they'd been made in a past he couldn't remember. He knew that he couldn't go back and change the way he had acted, but, from this point forward, he knew that he was going to do whatever he could to make everything right again.

Later that evening, Kurt laid in his bed in his own bedroom, feeling oddly out of place and like he didn't fit anymore even though it had only been a few days since last he was here. He stretched his long legs out and leaned up against the headboard, noticing how the twin mattress could barely support him anymore in his adult body.

He had dug through his closet and discovered a box filled with his high school yearbooks along with all his report cards and achievements. There was also a small photo album filled with pictures from cheer practices and competitions, football games and halftime shows, homecomings and proms, and in almost all of them, he was practically joined at the hip with Quinn Fabray.

But the longer he looked at the pictures, the more he began to notice the glassy, distant look in both of their eyes, the fake smiles, the way they were always so stiff and posed as if it really was all for show.

The yearbooks were next, and he flipped through to see himself in the superlative section, scattered in various pictures throughout the clubs and activities, and then he looked through his senior yearbook where he saw himself as Prom King.

But as he paged through the glossy pages, he sought out another familiar face, finding himself smiling as he saw the progression of a head of curls go from short, to long and unruly, back to short again, then tamed and gelled down. And in every picture, Blaine looked happy, whether he was standing in his suit and bow tie with the glee club, in costume singing on a stage in a musical production, or even playing the percussion in the pit for the marching band. God, Blaine had done everything he loved, he'd been the star of shows, won awards for his music, and Kurt had missed all of it.

It hurt too much to dwell on, so he began to devote his attention and thoughts to what he could do to fix the website and keep Vogue dot com afloat. He thought back to his roots, conjuring up memories of him and Blaine dancing in the basement, of Blaine's silly songs, and of just how happy being together like that had made the both of them, and while they were losing themselves in the music, they had felt like nothing could go wrong in the world.

And then Kurt had an idea.

He needed to get back to New York as soon as possible.

-s-

"I'm really glad you agreed to come out with me today," Kurt said.

"You seemed like you had something really important to tell me. Besides, I wasn't really doing much of anything anyway," Blaine said.

"Well, maybe what I have to tell you will be good news then, because I have something to propose."

"Oh?" Blaine's eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Vogue dot com needs a makeover, and as executive editor, I've been assigned the task of finding something, some hook or fresh content to get our ratings back up and save the name of Vogue."

"Wow. That's, um, a lot of pressure to place on one person."

"It is, but I already have an idea that is sure to bring in an audience. This is where my proposition comes in. You still write music, right?"

"I try. Gigs have been scarce lately. I've been in a bit of a funk, but yeah," Blaine said.

Kurt spoke quickly. "I want to shoot a music video. We'll use your music, your vocals, feature you in some very trendy fashion by a few up-and-coming designers. I was thinking I could even choreograph the song, sorta like we used to do. So, what do you think, Blaine?"

"I don't know. It sounds really great and all, but I don't think my music and style is right for Vogue."

"Exactly!" Kurt said. "This is the _new_ Vogue, the future. It's bringing artists together. It's making fashion more relatable. And there's money in it for you." Kurt pulled out an envelope. "Here's an advance. You'll get the rest when it's complete." He stuffed it into Blaine's hands.

"What? No, Kurt. I couldn't," he said, holding the envelope up and trying to give it back to Kurt.

"Please, please, please, please, _please_? Just say that you'll do it. I won't take no for an answer."

Blaine looked into Kurt's hopeful, shining blue eyes and caved. "Alright, yeah. I think it's a great idea, Kurt, and I'd be honored," Blaine said.

"Oh my god! Thank you!" Kurt threw his arms around Blaine and wrapped him in a brief hug before pulling away and leaping into the air. Blaine laughed at Kurt's excitement.

"When do you need this by? I'll need a little bit of time to prepare something," Blaine said.

"I have until the end of the week. But we'll need to start the day after tomorrow," Kurt explained.

Blaine looked alarmed, and Kurt became nervous, afraid that Blaine was about to change his mind. "Okay, that's really soon. I have a few other obligations, but I'm sure I could rearrange some things to fit it in and help you pull this off."

"You're seriously the best!" Kurt squealed, unable to contain himself, and Blaine smiled and laughed again, happy to see Kurt's spirits so high.

-s-

Kurt rose early with the sun the morning of the shoot, feeling anxious and energized by the promise of seeing Blaine again, of spending time with him and working with him on the project.

They were filming in Central Park, and Kurt was extremely lucky to have scored a permit so last minute. He had even managed to contact and bring a few models on board who had experience with dance, and Isabelle gave him full reign of the vault and all the pieces that are always pouring in from designers big and small from all over the world, hoping to be featured in some way, shape, or form. If everything went as planned, then he could be the one to help launch someone's career, or, at the very least, gain them some serious recognition. He felt a sense of pride in what he had managed to pull together and what so many had come together to create.

As soon as the cameras were rolling, it was clear that Blaine had entered performance mode. He was in his element, completely comfortable, swaying his hips, stepping in time to the music while following the choreography Kurt had taught him and the others. It was almost hypnotic for Kurt to watch, and he caught himself gawking and grinning stupidly at Blaine.

And when Blaine began to sing, Kurt felt a sort of electricity course through his body and shock him back to life. Everything about Blaine was like a heaping slice of warm chocolate cake after a month-long fast, sweet, delicious, enticing, and Kurt wanted to savor it. Then Blaine pulled Kurt into the take and into his arms, twirling him around and pulling him close, swaying together to the music, and Kurt knew that he was falling, toppling over into dangerous territory.

Blaine let go, and Kurt longed for his hands to be linked with his again, wrapped around his waist, touching his arms and shoulders. Blaine was comfortable, Blaine was security, Blaine was home. Blaine was something Kurt had missed. He'd missed his best friend, he'd missed the years they could have spent continuing to grow up together in high school and beyond, the memories they could have made, and he'd missed all the glaring signs that Blaine was amazing - more than amazing.

Kurt swallowed hard and felt his chest tighten. Blaine was everything Kurt had ever wanted or needed in his life.

He was falling in love with Blaine Anderson, and perhaps he had been all along.

And Blaine was getting married.

He pushed that detail to the back of his mind as they finished up filming, using up almost all the daylight hours. When Kurt thought he finally had all the perfect takes, exhausted, they packed up the equipment, dismissed everyone, and headed to Blaine's studio to match the audio with the video.

The studio was dark and quiet, and Kurt followed Blaine to his workspace where his computer and equipment was set up, promising that he would behave himself and not interfere. He was curious to see the process. But, more than anything, he wanted to be near Blaine. The day had been almost too perfect, and Kurt was afraid that if he left Blaine's side or lost sight of him, then he might lose him again.

Blaine clicked away at his computer, tweaking bits of audio and carefully matching it up with the frames. After just a few minutes, Kurt rose from the stool he had been seated on and walked up behind Blaine to peer over his shoulder.

"I thought you weren't going to interfere," Blaine said, but his voice was soft, and there was no admonition in his voice, just a bit of playfulness.

"I'm not. I've just never seen anything like this before. When did you learn how to do all of this?"

"I bought some software after I got my first job back in high school, and I guess I sorta just taught myself as I messed around with it. It wasn't until college that I learned all the really advanced stuff."

"You're really good at this, amazing really. You're amazing, Blaine." Then Kurt suddenly felt like he had said too much.

Blaine's hand stilled on the mouse, and he sat staring at the screen for a moment, his eyes unfocused. Then he spun around slowly in the chair, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's, and Kurt saw something in them, something like a question, but also pain and uncertainty. Blaine's expression was soft, imploring, almost pleading, and it caused Kurt's breath to hitch.

"Kurt," Blaine began. "I -" He rose from the chair, and his hands came up to cup Kurt's face.

Kurt felt electricity from his touch, his hands were soft, warm, and careful, and then Kurt felt his mouth falling slightly open just in time to catch Blaine's lips as he closed the gap between them. If his touch had sent tremors through Kurt's body, then Blaine's kiss set his body on the Richter scale, but he soon went slack, became pliant as Blaine continued to press in, to kiss him deeper, and then Kurt felt himself kissing Blaine back with just as much tenderness, just as much want. It was as if years of pent-up desire was now being unleashed, and Kurt was nearly bowled over from the force, losing control of himself in his ecstasy.

Blaine broke away with a sharp intake of breath, and he looked down at the floor, bringing his hand to his forehead. "God, Kurt, I - I'm so sorry -"

"Don't be," Kurt cut him off, still short of breath. "I really liked it."

"No. I shouldn't have done that. Kurt, I'm getting married," Blaine said, unsettlingly, almost too quietly.

"I know," Kurt breathed. And he closed his eyes, the reality of the situation hitting him.

Then Blaine spoke faintly, barely even a whisper, "...I really liked it, too."

Blaine closed the gap between them once more.


	8. Chapter 8

Blaine was exhausted, having worked tirelessly through the previous night so he could get the finished video to Kurt in time for his presentation. It hadn't helped that he'd been constantly distracted by thoughts of what had happened between them, had been reliving the pleasure that it had brought him to have finally kissed Kurt, to finally know how it felt to be in Kurt's arms, and to be loved by him. But he knew he needed to stop, that he couldn't hold onto it all as if it could mean anything to him. Blaine knew he had fucked up, and now he would have to suffer the consequences. He took a few sips of his coffee, wiped his mouth, and then returned his attention to the monitor.

Two hands, large with long slender fingers, came up to wrap around Blaine's chest from behind as he was putting the final touches on the video. Then a chin came to rest on his shoulder.

"I wasn't expecting -" he swiveled around, surprised to come face to face with Sebastian. "I thought you weren't going to be home until tomorrow?"

"I caught an early flight, couldn't stand to be away from you any longer." Sebastian planted a gentle kiss on Blaine's forehead. "What, were you expecting someone else?"

"No, of course not. You just surprised me, that's all."

"Well, maybe I came back early for another reason. I want to discuss something with you, Blaine. I know we've been doing this long-distance thing with me flying back and forth from Paris to New York all the time for work, but I was thinking, since we're going to be married in a matter of days, I wanted to see how you felt about moving to Paris full-time with me...?"

"Oh, um, wow. Paris," Blaine echoed. "That's a really big move."

"And our marriage is a really big commitment. I just thought it was the only thing that made much sense. Let's be honest, Blaine. You can make music wherever you are, and the few gigs you've managed to score in New York haven't exactly been a cash cow."

Blaine was quiet for a while, but then he finally spoke. "The City of Love," Blaine said softly, feeling the irony in it heavy on his tongue.

"I think it's time, Blaine. And I think the change will be good for you," Sebastian said.

Blaine didn't respond, his mind reeling and chest beginning to ache as he thought about everything and everyone he would be leaving behind. And, it was wrong, but he thought about Kurt and the kiss and how he couldn't stop thinking about everything that happened the last few days. Blaine was getting married, he was with Sebastian, and he had made a commitment, but that didn't stop his stomach from feeling like it wanted to leap out of him and his heart from feeling like it had been cleaved in two.

-s-

Kurt took a series of deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down and will away his nerves as he stood at the entrance to the conference room. This was his moment, the moment that would determine his future. It was sink or swim, and Kurt was really hoping that this music video was his life raft.

Quinn had just finished giving her presentation and took her seat at the table.

He entered the room, but instead of taking a seat among his colleagues, Kurt moved to the head of the table to set up his presentation through the projector. When Isabelle took a seat at the table, giving him the floor, and looked to him, Kurt felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest, and his palms began to sweat, but he stood tall and reminded himself how hard he'd worked to get here and how much he believed in what he and Blaine had accomplished.

"I believe that Vogue has lost its edge in the recent past, because we forgot what it stood for when it all started. It's been overrun by advertisements and is lacking the actual fashion, flair, and fun that it once had been known for. And we need to bring that fun back. When I think about fashion, I think about identity and confidence. I think about expressing and presenting to the world how we feel inside, letting our true selves shine through. But, most of all, I think about when I was young and how I felt when I first discovered the wonders of Vogue in a box of my mother's old things. It was thrilling, like falling in love for the first time, like holding someone close at your first school dance, like hearing a new song that's so personally meaningful that it becomes a part of your being and never leaves you." Kurt took a breath, scanning the faces to gauge their reactions, but he thought it best to just continue lest he lose his nerve. "The new Vogue will embrace what's new, young, and undiscovered. It'll celebrate fresh faces in fashion, music, and other art forms to create a whole new experience. So, without further ado, I present to you my idea for the future of Vogue dot com." Kurt clicked play on the video and stepped out of the way to watch from the side of the room.

His coworkers watched the video intently, enraptured, some even tapping their fingers, hands, or feet to the beat of the song, and Kurt felt an abundance of joy swelling up inside him. But the most important reaction and opinion would be Isabelle's.

Her expression was stony at first as she seemed to be deeply considering, calculating everything, but when the video ended, a broad smile spread across her face, and she was not only the first person to clap, but she rose from her chair and gave Kurt a standing ovation. The others soon followed, and in that moment, Kurt had never been prouder.

"Bravo, Kurt! That was raw and exhilarating, yet masterful! Where did you find that gorgeous musician? I'm assuming that was an original song?"

"Yeah, it was one of his songs. His name is Blaine Anderson...he's a small local artist. So does that mean you like it? You're going to use the video?" Kurt asked, bracing himself for a letdown but hoping for the best.

"Yes, _I_ definitely want to use your video, but, of course, Anna has the final say," Isabelle explained, and Kurt felt all his nerves dissolve, replaced with a sort of fluttering elation in his stomach.

The other Vogue employees began to rise from the table and file out of the conference room, but Kurt especially noticed Quinn who seemed peeved, possibly even resentful as she left the room, but he hung back to talk to Isabelle instead of pursuing her.

"So, is this Blaine Anderson gay?" Isabelle asked.

"Wha - what?" Kurt stammered, startled by the frankness of her question.

"It just seems like every talented, glaringly attractive, put-together man in my life is gay, thus dashing all my hopes of finding someone." Kurt didn't answer, unsure of how to respond to that, but then she laughed and spoke again, briefly patting Kurt on the shoulder. "I thought so. Well, don't let that man go, if you know what I mean." She winked. "Alright, I'm going to forward this to Anna and we should hear the final verdict by tomorrow afternoon. You've done a great job, Kurt. Go celebrate - take the day off tomorrow."

He nodded, and then followed her out of the room, a skip in his step from his victory. With an entire day off, Kurt only had one person in mind with whom he wanted to celebrate, the only person who deserved all the praise and deserved to revel in what they had accomplished - together. This would probably be the best news, the best thing he could ever give to Blaine, and he was sure it would make up for his past mistakes, make them feel so insignificant now.

-s-

The Condé Nast Building the next day was exploding with activity, people frantically milling about, running back and forth between stations and offices, carrying various paperwork and otherwise. The noise level from the several people on phones was like a constant hum or buzzing in the air, and Blaine felt almost as if he was in a busy hive of bees. He stepped cautiously through the rows of desks and past the offices on the floor as he made his way toward Kurt's office, dodging workers and trying not to get in anyone's way. He felt out of place and was afraid of being knocked over or snapped at by these high-strung Vogue employees.

When he finally saw the placard on the wall that displayed Kurt's name, Blaine knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal a familiar face, but not one that he had any intention or desire to see at all.

"Blaine! How are you?" Quinn said with a fake smile to match her tone, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the room.

"What are you doing in Kurt's office? Where is Kurt?" Blaine asked, glancing around.

"He went on an errand, and he won't be back for a while. But, listen Blaine, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. I hate being the messenger in situations like this, but, the sooner you know, the better. It's about the music video."

"What about it?" Blaine asked, swallowing nervously, already certain he knew the answer.

"It was great, it just wasn't what we were looking for to revive the site. However, if the need arises, we'd love to feature it in some other way - if that's okay with you, of course," she said.

"Why hasn't Kurt told me this?" Blaine was becoming flustered, wishing that this conversation wasn't really happening.

"He's probably too ashamed to admit it to you. You see, Kurt decided to go with something else...and after you did _all_ that work. What a shame. He's actually making arrangements with another artist as we speak. But if you just sign this paper here, I'm sure we could still use it in some way."

Blaine caved, wanting nothing more than to just get out of the building, away from Quinn, and away from everything. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

Quinn held the paper out and handed Blaine a pen. He leaned over the desk and scratched his signature into the paper on the correct line along with the date, too infuriated and confused to even read the document. It didn't matter to him anyway now. Whatever had been going on with him and Kurt had been all wrong, completely inappropriate, and he was glad that Kurt was now making it so easy for him to say goodbye. But he knew it would never be easy, not when his heart had always ached for him all these years, and he didn't think it would ever stop. But Sebastian was right. The change of location, the move to Paris after the wedding, getting away from everything that reminded him of Kurt, from everything their memories were tied to, would be good for him and may be the only solution to his heartbreak.

He handed the paper back over and dropped the pen in the holder on the desk.

"Thank you!" Quinn said, ripping it from his hand with a smug grin. "Have a great day, Blaine Anderson, and I wish you the best in your future endeavors." She waved as he turned his back on her and let himself out of the office.

Quinn sat back in the desk chair, remarkably proud of herself, and lifted up the phone on Kurt's desk to make a few important calls. She glanced at the clock, and then someone picked up on the other end. Quinn knew that Kurt wouldn't be in until the following day, but, after what she had found hidden in Kurt's desk, she couldn't wait to see him.

"Hello? Is this the chief editor of Elle magazine?" she said. "This is Quinn Fabray from Vogue. I have something that I'm sure will be of great interest to you."


	9. Chapter 9

His feet carried him down the streets of Greenwich Village and past the buildings that were now familiar, a trip that he had so often made lately that he didn't need to think about where he was anymore. Kurt turned the corner and onto Blaine's street, humming happily as he made his way to the door. Someone buzzed him in without responding, and, although he found it a bit odd, he figured that Blaine was probably expecting him by now or had seen him coming up the walk.

But the person who greeted Kurt at the door of Blaine's apartment wasn't Blaine at all, and he was taken aback, suddenly scared that he had made a terrible mistake by showing up.

"Hello. Kurt, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Hello, Sebastian. Is Blaine around?" Kurt asked, trying to see past the man into the apartment.

"I'm sorry, he's out right now picking up his tux. He always seems so put-together, so you wouldn't believe how much he procrastinates some things - and for his own wedding, too."

"Sorry?" Kurt said. "I don't think I understand."

"The wedding is this weekend, and Blaine's just now picking up his tux. If he wasn't so adorable, I might be mad, but I can forgive him," Sebastian jested. "It's going to be such a cute backyard wedding at his parents' house in Ohio - so quaint," he said. "And then it's Paris for us for good."

When Sebastian's words fully registered, Kurt knew he was an idiot to have come here thinking that anything more could possibly come of it. Had he actually expected Blaine to pull the brakes on his life for him, the life he had already planned out?

"Oh, I'm - I'm sorry," Kurt said, beginning to back up. "Can you tell him I stopped by? I have something important - something very good to tell him. It's important," Kurt said again, his voice cracking with emotion.

"No problem, Kurt. I'll tell him as soon as he returns. Goodbye now."

"Bye," Kurt said and then hurried down the stairs and out of the building, his feet carrying him once again by muscle memory, his mind elsewhere and heart crumbling to pieces inside his chest.

-s-

The next morning, Kurt, already feeling crushed having not heard back from Blaine, entered his office only to find it unexpectedly occupied.

"Quinn," he said, almost a question, surprised and confused to see her there.

"Hello, Kurt." She spun around in the chair, and he saw that she was holding documents of some sort and was logged into his email on his computer. "You're just the person I needed to see. Care to explain?" She held up a tri-folded paper that very clearly had the Elle office header printed across the top and center.

"I have no idea what that is or where it came from," Kurt said, and he wasn't lying. He wasn't sure what she was getting at at all.

"Well, they sure do know you, 'Dear Mr. Hummel'..." She began to read off the paper. "'We've been grateful for your _insights_ and hope to take you on as...' Editor in chief?" Quinn said. "Really? You sold us all out, and you had everyone convinced that you were this angelic, innocent, talented star employee with the magazine's best interest at heart. I had my suspicions about you, but now I know the truth. You're a rat, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt felt like he had just been punched in the gut. Everything was crashing down on him now, and it was suffocating.

"You didn't care who went down, so long as it served your selfish ambitions. Luckily, they care as little about you as you care about Vogue, so when I called them up, they welcomed me with open arms. They love your ideas, by the way - the music video and all. It looks perfect on the front page of their website."

"What?! What are you talking about? That's Blaine's work! You can't just -"

"I can, and I did. I got him to sign this release form." She pulled it out, waving it in front of Kurt's face.

Kurt snatched it away from her to get a good look at it. When he saw the signature, he knew she wasn't lying, and his stomach turned, a sour taste rising in his throat and mouth. "How? What did you say to him?"

"Oh, I just told him that you decided to go in a different direction," Quinn said.

Terri appeared in the doorway to Kurt's office, clearly distressed.

"Pardon me, Mr. Hummel. I'm so sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Wright would like to speak with you immediately," Terri said, and Kurt turned quickly away from Quinn, unable to look at her face any longer, and took off out of the office.

He practically dashed the length of the building to her office, his stomach in knots, filled with dread and uncertainty, hoping with all his might that everything Quinn said wasn't the truth and that Isabelle would be telling him that they were all going to be okay.

But when he arrived and knocked on the door frame, peeking his head in, he saw a broken and defeated looking Isabelle wearing a somber expression fit for a funeral, standing by the window, arms crossed, staring blankly through the glass.

"I heard back from Anna," Isabelle finally spoke, turning toward Kurt.

"It wasn't...it wasn't good, then?" Kurt asked, his heart sinking like a stone, feeling like he might forget how to breathe.

"No. She loved it. In fact, Anna has never been so elated about an idea in years. But unfortunately it's not going to save us. Quinn sold all your ideas and the video to Elle. They offered her the position as their editor in chief, she's accepted...and we're all being sacked."

"No," Kurt said, escaping as only a faint whisper. "That isn't right. That's impossible!" he nearly shouted, feeling his body becoming uncomfortably heated.

"It's over, Kurt. I'm sorry. We all have two weeks to make severance with the company - to pack our things and say our goodbyes," she said, and Kurt could see that she was trying hard to hold back the tears that were shining in her eyes.

How could this be happening? Kurt had been working so hard to right all his wrongs, but it was apparent that the damage he had already done had been too severe, and it was too late to patch things up.

He left Isabelle's office, shoulders slumped and head hung, and broke out into a run as the tears that were burning in his own eyes began to roll swiftly down his face.

Two weeks, Kurt thought. Two weeks, and they would all be gone. But he was too humiliated to show his face there after all the destruction he had caused and the misfortune he had brought to so many people, deciding that it was best he not return at all. Without even bothering to pack the things from his desk, Kurt gathered up his most essential belongings, took the elevator down in a deafening silence, and left Condé Nast for the last time, left all his shattered dreams behind, and refused to look back.

-s-

All he had left was Blaine, and now he was almost certain that he had lost him too. Probably forever. But Kurt left Vogue and never stopped moving until he was standing in line to go through airport security with no bags in his hands and only the faintest hope in his chest that he could somehow convince Blaine to call off the wedding and stay in New York. Because if there was only one thing Kurt was completely certain of now, it was that he was in love with Blaine Anderson, his best friend, the person he had taken for granted for far too long.

And he knew in his heart that Blaine loved him too, that they were meant to be together. He wasn't letting go that easily, wasn't giving up without a fight.

The flight felt like it took longer than it actually did, and Kurt was all nerves as he tried his best to keep the choking sobs down that were threatening to burst from his throat. He felt relieved and slightly reinvigorated once the plane touched down, and he climbed into the first cab available.

"415 Whitman Avenue - Lima," Kurt told the driver, and they were off, speeding down the road away from the airport but not hastily enough for Kurt. Every minute that passed was precious time wasted. Every minute brought Blaine closer to his vows and Kurt closer to an eternity without Blaine.

Burt was ecstatic to see Kurt again, especially so soon, but he apologized, explaining how he needed to get back to the shop because he left Finn Hudson in charge who, even though he meant well and was skilled at working with his hands, wasn't always the brightest when it came to customer affairs and taking care of orders.

"Finn Hudson?" Kurt said. "Finn works for you?"

"Yep, for quite some time now," Burt told him.

"He never left Lima, then," Kurt mused. "I used to think he was so cool, and I thought for sure he would have become some big star athlete." Being popular really didn't mean anything in the long run, Kurt thought. Why had he once believed it was so important? He felt nothing but foolish now.

His father just looked at him thoughtfully and then opened the front door. "I'll see you later, Kurt. You'll still be here, right?"

"Of course, Dad," Kurt said.

-s-

Wedding preparations were in full swing the next morning, and Kurt watched from his old bedroom window as people moved throughout the next door neighbors' house and yard, setting up decorations, chairs, and tables. Movement caught his eye across the way, and Kurt saw a silhouette drift in front of the window and then out of sight again. He kneeled down at the window, resting his arms on the sill and his chin on his arms, and stared for a moment longer into Blaine's bedroom window, his gaze unfocused.

He had to do something before it was too late, had to tell Blaine how he felt. Kurt had come back to Ohio for a reason, and he wasn't just going to sit back and watch Blaine marry Sebastian, wasn't going to allow Blaine to get locked into a future with a man he wasn't in love with just because what they had "worked".

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Kurt got up off the floor, ran down the stairs, and pulled his boots on. With haste, he left the house and made his way into Blaine's house, going unnoticed by the numerous people entering and exiting the wide-open front door. As he climbed the steps, he flashed back briefly to the many times he had run up them in the past, and then he turned when he reached the landing. Down the hall was the door to Blaine's bedroom, slightly ajar, and Kurt walked toward it, almost silently pushing it open and stepping hesitantly inside.

"Kurt," Blaine said, startled when he saw the man reflected in the mirror, standing there in his old bedroom. "What are you doing here?" Blaine finished tying his bow tie and then turned slowly to face Kurt.

"You look...wow," Kurt began, feeling the ache in his chest grow as he took in Blaine in his tux. "You look really handsome, Blaine."

"Thank you," he said, "but that didn't answer my question."

Kurt was quiet for a while, trying to find the right words to say. He had had it all planned out in his head, but now that he was here in Blaine's presence, he'd forgotten it all. Then suddenly he found himself blurting out exactly what he was feeling.

"You can't marry him, Blaine. You can't stand here and tell me that you believe we aren't meant to be together, that you don't feel the things I feel when I'm with you. God," Kurt said, his voice beginning to crack. "I - I love you, Blaine. And I know you love me too."

"I do...I love you _so_ much, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice strangled with emotion. "The time we've spent together...I've felt things these past few weeks that I haven't felt in years." Blaine paused to take in a shaky breath. "But you can't just come in here and tell me to press pause on my life, or to throw everything that I've been building toward away. I'm getting married, Kurt. I made a promise to someone, and his whole family is downstairs waiting for us to walk down that aisle together. And I know you don't like it and you don't want to hear it, but he's been good to me. We can't change the past, Kurt. Believe me, I wish that what happened between us never had, but it did, Kurt, it happened, and we can't go back now."

"But, Blaine..." Kurt closed his mouth tightly and wrapped his arms around himself to keep from trembling, at least, anymore noticeably than he already was. His eyes became wet with hot tears, and one rolled slowly from the corner when he blinked.

"Please don't cry, Kurt. It kills me to see you cry," Blaine said, reaching forward toward Kurt, but then his arm fell back down to his side. "Hold on one second." He turned around and went searching for something in his dresser drawer. When he turned back around, he was holding the broken ring box, the one that had held the gum wrapper ring that was Kurt's thirteenth birthday present from Blaine. Kurt looked at it questioningly, his bottom lip trembling.

"You kept...can I have it?" Kurt asked softly.

"Yeah," Blaine responded and placed it gently in Kurt's outstretched hand.

Kurt covered his mouth to stifle a loud sob, and Blaine looked down at the ground, finding it difficult to look at Kurt in this moment.

"Th - thank you, Blaine." Kurt sniffled. "I wish you the best...I really mean it."

"I know," Blaine said, wiping away a tear from his own cheek.

"Goodbye," Kurt breathed, feeling the finality of it all heavy in his chest.

"Goodbye, Kurt."

Kurt cupped his other hand over the one with the ring box in it and left the room, racing back out of the house, not stopping until he was on the front step of his father's house where he collapsed, feeling like everything had been drained out of him.

He finally, slowly opened the red hinged wooden box and lifted the lid to reveal the slightly crumpled Juicy Fruit wrapper ring, still glittering as the tiny wishing dust particles caught the sunlight. The tears began to flow more freely down Kurt's face as he plucked the carefully crafted paper ring from its casing and made to slip it on his finger, finding it only able to fit on his pinky. He slid it all the way down his littlest finger to the knuckle, clenching his fist once it was secure.

A warm breeze began to blow through, rippling through the grass on the front lawn, and Kurt closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, willing his body to relax.

And as he sat there, in the darkness behind his lids, Kurt wished that he was thirteen again, that he could return to a much simpler time before he had messed everything up. He wished that he could be the naive, geeky, awkward boy who didn't fit in and was best friends with his neighbor, the equally as nerdy Blaine Anderson, and then his world grew darker, and the air grew dense and continued to swirl around his body...

-s-

The lightweight fabric of the scarf pressed against Kurt's eyelids and face, and he reached up to pull it away and restore his vision. When he looked around him, he took in the door and the shelves of the basement closet. Then he heard a familiar voice, not the deeper, adult version of it, but the one of his best friend, the boy he feared he had lost, the boy he loved more than anything else in the world.

Kurt looked down, and, seeing chubby hands and his hairless legs and old faded Chucks, he pushed himself up from the floor and turned the handle on the closet door, pushing it open.

"Kurt?" Blaine called out, and then he was knocked to the ground by a flying body and limbs, pinned underneath the weight of his best friend. Blaine's eyes shot open wide, and then Kurt's perfectly pink, soft lips were on Blaine's. He hummed into Kurt's mouth and then relaxed, allowing his eyes to fall shut as he let the pleasure of the kiss wash over him.

And then Kurt finally pulled away, gazing down into Blaine's bright, hazel eyes.

"Wow," was all Blaine could manage, and then, "You're really good at that."

Kurt just giggled and pulled Blaine up from the floor.

"Where did that come from?" Blaine asked, still blissfully in shock.

"I don't know," Kurt said. "I just really wanted to kiss you."


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt shivered as the slight chill of early spring crept into the space between his neck and the collar of his tux, raising goosebumps along the surface of his skin. His cerulean suede dress shoes, chosen to match his jacket and pants, contrasted greatly with the flat-bottom of the white, wooden rowboat in which he was seated across from Blaine, dressed equally as elegant in a white tux and goldenrod vest, who was practically glowing against the dark lake and vibrant foliage in the background. The sight was ethereal to behold; Blaine was an angel in Kurt's eyes.

Blaine had rowed them out from the boathouse dock toward the center and then released the oars, leaving them to drift on the copper-colored waters of the winding lake that ran through Central Park.

The late afternoon sun was at a point in the sky where it hit the water just so, casting a vivid reflection on its surface of the powder pink and milky white petals of the fully-bloomed cherry blossom trees that grew along the banks and the cream-hued cast-iron form that was Bow Bridge.

Kurt reached over the edge of the boat and dipped his fingers into the water, breaking the surface and sending small ripples throughout it.

Now almost immobile, the boat rotating ever so slightly from the almost nonexistent current and the breeze, Blaine lifted a bottle of champagne from where it had been nestled in a bucket of ice by his feet. He handed Kurt a plastic champagne flute, keeping another for himself, and then popped the cork and poured the sparkling, bubbly liquid into their respective receptacles.

They lifted their flutes for a toast, the sunlight catching on the white gold bands around their fourth fingers on their left hands, the precious metal rivaling the shimmer of the pale gold beverage.

"To us," Blaine began. "To a long and prosperous future together."

"For a long and happy life," Kurt added. "Together, always." They both took a few generous sips and then laughed as Kurt quickly wiped at his mouth with his hand, having nearly spilled some of the drink down his front.

"I am madly in love with you, Kurt Elizabeth Anderson-Hummel," Blaine said, enjoying the way it sounded in the air between them as it passed his lips. It was the first time he had the opportunity to say it, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"And I am fiercely in love with you, Blaine Devon Anderson...Hummel," Kurt said with a giggle. He grew quiet and gazed out across the water and at the greenery along the bank. "It's really nice out here...it's so peaceful. I'm really glad the ceremony is over and we have some time to spend together and to just be us."

"I'm sure you'll get tired of me eventually," Blaine said with a grin.

"Never. I've known you for nearly twenty-five years, and I could never grow tired of your endless charm, dashing good looks, and gigantic heart. You're everything, Blaine. You're my everything."

"Would you believe me if I told you that - I hope you don't think I'm weird - but sometimes I have this strange feeling in my gut that some divine power gave me you, and I feel like we could have drifted apart years ago, but then you just...fell into my arms - well, leaped into them, actually –" He chuckled at the memory. "And ever since, I've felt like the luckiest guy in the world." Blaine swallowed and stared in awe at the man across from him. The blue fabric of Kurt's tux brought out the blue in his bright eyes, making them even more entrancing than usual, and Blaine was breathless for a moment. He breathed again when Kurt spoke.

"No, Blaine._ I'm_ the luckiest guy in the world," Kurt said. "Would you believe me if I told you that I believe we were always meant to be together? Do you believe in soul mates, Blaine?"

"Yes, Kurt," Blaine answered without the slightest hesitation. "I do. Ever since I first met you, I always knew somehow that I wanted you, needed you, even, in my life. I think we just fit together, and nothing has ever felt more right than how I feel being with you. I feel comfortable, safe, and like, no matter where we are, I'm always home."

Kurt felt a blush creep up his neck and into his face, and he leaned forward and adjusted Blaine's gold bow tie which was slightly askew from dancing earlier at the reception they had covertly slipped away from. "I will never take you for granted again, Blaine Anderson-Hummel," Kurt murmured, barely audible.

"We're really doing this," Blaine mused. "I can't believe we're married - that _I'm_ married to the most wildly talented designer to ever dress the biggest Broadway stars. And, god, Kurt. You're all mine," he finished softly.

"Blaine Anderson-Hummel, you are everything a man could ever dream of, and I can't believe that _I'm_ married to a gorgeous and insanely talented Tony-award-winning actor. And now, if you don't mind, I really want to kiss you because I think that if I have to wait any longer, I'll surely lose my mind."

"Perhaps a little privacy would be preferable?" Blaine said, raising his eyebrows questioningly, and Kurt nodded in response, lightly biting his bottom lip.

They both drained their champagne flutes and set them aside.

Blaine grasped the handles of the oars again and pushed them gently along, the boat now drawing closer to Bow Bridge. A few strokes later and they were drifting into the shadows beneath the structure. Blaine dropped the oars again, and they sat bobbing, the boat unsteady, and then Kurt offset the balance more when he threw his arms around Blaine's shoulders and brought his forehead to rest against Blaine's.

"This is only a taste of what I have in store for you tonight," Kurt said teasingly, lightly brushing his lips against Blaine's. But Blaine wouldn't let him pull away, and both of his hands came up to cup Kurt's head, pulling him forward and pressing his lips to Kurt's, firm and claiming, the boat tottering from the shifted weight.

Then Blaine pulled away suddenly, denying Kurt's lips which were still trying to chase his own.

"And that's just a taste of what I have in store for you for many, many years to come."


End file.
